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Messiaen’s Dream

I
Cascading
river, indigo,
smooths the stones
of the violet waterfalls
in the Dauphine

II
Out of the
water washed silence
which itself
is blue, like the pause between
chords, comes the song

III
of winter
birds. Then the violet
shifts, mixing
with orange and gold, the birds’
chanting refrain

IV
refracting
to a long chorus.
The sound seen
the color heard, clarinet
of controlled flight.

V
My mother
writing out my life
leaving trails
like red veins to follow, faith
and sorrowed love

VI
My mother
the poet, she saw
my music
before I was born, before
I was taken

VII
by midnight
dreams of the angel
arising
from the silver sea, his face
a reflection

VIII
of time’s end
the soul’s completion.
In the Nazi’s
cell I hear birdsong and rain.
Dawn. I begin….

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