The Sandpaintings of Vivaldi's Winter

It starts of slow, the thrumming hush and rising blood

of each cast note hitting back and forth an echo of menace and then dreamy now

all at once you know the fear.

Pause.

And rise. And rise. And rise...

and pause. And slow. and die.

And life is reborn in the wings, the captured sense that's cast about and back and forth

and hits the frantic thought of immanence and god we should be this clean together and

would I have you feel the darkness in this peace and all at once the crescendo's done when the cello sweeps across the stage and holds

it self back again

a single violin lights what we were

and words that rise a virtuoso sound. I'd like to capture how it is to hear you there above the melody and crashing down with all the thought that life can capture erased at once and in the buzz of voices a sudden occupation with how they all could be together.