It is the spirit that fuels the body.

It awakens fires long burned cold.

It restores the broken heart.

It heals the scars cut long ago.

my fingers rest above the piano

and their shadows trace my presence

upon its ivory white keys. i

inhale, my fingers rising gently, and i

exhale, pushing into the keys,

ringing several notes at a time.

The initial absolute of "black"

fizzes out; reds and blues and shapes pulse

with every beat of your racing heart.

You can feel her hands, see the basic outline of them,

of her shoulders, her curved collarbone.

As you reach for her -

I grow from a place

where emerald rain

pounds against the

land, painting the

hills bright green. I

paint, too, hoping to

leave my mark on the

world.