this wind pellucid and fierce
stitching chaos in my mind
atop the green mountain roiling mist
above the churchyard ruin and lore
here I sway longingly my hair a blinding veil
reciting all I remember of Yeats
he speaks to me he pleads with me
Never understand the weeping of the…
After Ola Gjeilo’s The Lake Isle
Your bright
soundscapes
generate
a remedy
for uninspired
hearts.
Blest by vespers
the restive muse
rustles
in willowy
crescendos of
your song.
Rhythms flutter.
Imaginings
awaken as
melodies collide
in manifold
climaxes.
Every note
a salvific
breath
transcending
pandemic
grief.
Marie Marchand 2022