Mary’s fingers trace the notes
above the piano,
like a vine on the trellis
of a staff.
I see Jackie trace the face
of fossils in the stone,
of a house built from the life
of an ancient sea.
I see yesterday inside
the hours of tomorrow.
Each of us
finding a door to music
inside us,
to the tides of an ancient moon.
To memory
crossing the trail of time.
Michael pounding on the wall,
leaving
the indelible sound
of his laughter.
I see the weaving of souls,
catching in its net,
the story of ourselves,
learning how to sing,
how to see,
how to travel into space,
the joy of perpetual innocence,
forming
the arches of the universe.