soul and sadness
are different dominions,
just like songs listen to you
as much as you listen to them.
the beauty of memories,
like a fruit tree blooming
but never decaying
paints suffering a clear color.
notes become an anthem
just as your soul heals,
regenerating from past lives
lived loud like music in tenor basements.
leaves and petals pile up
like a love supreme,
waiting for certain weather
to blow them away to other places.
in the eyes of my daughter
are the reasons for Coltrane
and camouflage from death,
the heart of the dear universe.