Seeing you is a riot

To my eyes. In it

Is roiling memory

And that sense (you may be

 

Feeling it, too) of each

Rib cracking itself to

Introduce my heart to

The midday sun as it seeks

 

To brace itself against

Recalling your closed

Eyes, your hair pushed

Behind your ear, whilst

 

Straining to hear the cluster

Of songbirds whose noted

Spring roost interrupts

Your old record player.

 

Metatonic, my thoughts,

From moment to next.

All I can do is shield

Myself from what I defy.