This is my domain.

-

Pigeons swoop, bustle and roost,

Through snow and twisted chickenwire

To gargantuan beams of splintered wood;

Peering down upon the uniform pews,

Mosaic windows starved of sunshine and

Blood-velvet carpet drawn threadbare

-
Organ pipes impinge upon their elevated retreat

Like cylindrical spires piercing Heaven’s cloud.

For a moment, there is peace;

Silence before recrudescence.

-

As wispy clouds of frankincense rise to Athena,

Whose calls of wisdom and glory are forever known

The knees of a pilgrim fall

In these chiding, hallowed walls

“There can be no beauty in this world,”

Murmured as fresh tears fall

“Only lessons, only mystery.”

-

Rising its head in silent awe,

Distracted from introspective mediation

To the humble figure by the organ

Whose breathing is coarse and heavy;

Whose bones as brittle and weak

As sheets of ice beneath a salty plane

-

Wrinkled hands caress the ivory keys

Like a lost lover finally kissed

Or the tender young of cold

tamed by the finesse and radiant warmth of Jazz

-

The pilgrim sat amongst the empty audience

Of ghosts of people who came and went,

Entranced with each note pronounced

And each word unspoken

-

Here in my domain

Buried within the busy streets of New York,

The pilgrim’s soul rises to the music

Sustenance of the fruit of ages

-

Here in my domain

I, the pilgrim, watch and wait silently

Forever amongst the empty audience,

For the spectre of these hallowed halls

To lift my soul with Jazz once more.