Between lives

it might have been that once upon a time,

between lives,

I grew long fingers like icicles,

as a piano player,

I strolled along like the whisper of an old wind

playfully stealing the flat notes

from a young girl’s sighs

as if at once all the church bells sounded fair,

like a fair Sunday

and the sky was pale like swathes of wheat

ripped down by rain

it might have been that between lives

my eyelashes grew

wistfully,

and the soles of my feet, thin like italic letters,

carried me far away, over the ice...