Before the first quarter note
from the chorus you sing
delivers me musicals or psalms,
the day may irridesce
into an island razzle dazzle—
another Barukh atah Adonai
or a category six hurricane.
In your timbre: the certain heartbreak
or heart remake raging
at the end of a cordless line.
Doctor, may you be my once and only
dip into oncology and may this late
afternoon callback signal
our final sentences together.
Between us—the lamp of my life and
the diagnosis marks where I exist—
readied to return to the illuminated trees.
And so I set the phone to silence—
watch the kern as she crash-lands into the sea.