Allegra

Even the hollow reed voices across sand, dry plains, startling lilt, notes we can remember. We can forget. Forgetting is our salvation, not reincarnation. When memory is destroyed, we are spared thorns, destiny. No further life. Peace be with you. With you, Father. To each the choice, known, unknown, of what the heart can render. Rending forever, keeping us worn, sworn to earth, dust. Do not erect stones for me, they would keep me company. I did not have companionship in life, why plague the stones at sunset? Cover me with thorns, as in life, one reed, one drum. I clutch music of death, no salvation, yet reincarnation. You are in peace. Let me. Remember me. Remember. Who would leave their bed of winter's night to light dark's ice with wax candle? Not you, priest... bound by law to the body, not soul's grief or expansion. Bound to limit the soul in one direction. Denial of reed and drum leads voices, in canto, to ceilings. Captured. Tonal. Never twice on key. To each a choice...thorn, dulled thorn. Thorn nonetheless. Vine. Rose. What redemption after salvation? Can salvation be redeemed? Must it, should it, by who's hand... long the vine, short the rose. Together...vining rose of headstones rendering hollowness in winter's dark ice. For you who remember... a candle.