which grasp
has hold entirety
depends
moody I am on
Beethoven
immensely beautiful
wandering amiss in his dreams
I feel voyeuristic
red faced caught
looking in the boudoir
glass at my sister
and her young lover
or among tall grass
with heavenly  harped angels
silent breeze clearing my forehead
on the shore
the birds whistle
soft the surge closes
on sand and makes love
with the sun glistening
rapture
and I blush again