VIRGINIA: THE STEADY FLAME

                                    —for Virginia Cayton

Giving us the rhythm of your name,

the voracious hunger of syllables

and staccato of piano keys,

the steady flame of she who leads us

from the darkness of the wood.

Calling you home, calling you—

Virginia.

I want to tell you of the rising sun,

of the height of redwoods

by the edge of the lake,

pulling us in, plucking us from both sides

like a harp, or a violin fretting us.

The black keys singing, Virginia.

An unnameable quality,

the tracings of shadows—

To swing the syllables of the air—

How distance is minuscule.

Life is like that measured beat

of jubiliation. Repeat it again.

Over the rise, clouds gather

in your name. Virginia.

Your feet trace shadows

on the back roads of the mind.

The journey forward

must also contain the past.

For what is a pianist without a piano?

Arms punctuate ideas,

strengthen us, build stairs until we

sink down into ourselves

and feel it from the insides of our knees.

The wind is calling you

by the music of your name,

Virginia.

VIRGINIA: THE STEADY FLAME

TAKE TWO:

As if someone entered the room

a draft tickles the flame,

teaches it the elements of dance;

it knows how to bend in the breeze.

Like the roaring stand of pines,

it sings its eventual death song.

Not perpendicular right angles

but the bending of light, of time.

Wave and particle, quantum mechanics.

Who holds the room together,

who shows the darkness how to dance with light?

A child claps his hands with joy

following the melody of your name, Virginia.

Oh Virginia, the sky knows your name.

The darkness is its brother—or is it sister?

Virginia, the mountains’ purity

is composed of ice & rock.

We learn anew the meaning of sublime

living in the heart of the flame.

Virginia, the black notes take hold, climb the summit,

seeking the darkness & the light in one breath.

Chiaroscuro and contrapunto, the flickering flame.