it was like if colors could make sound:
an aria of light and I was the soloist,
slowly singing, linking each note with the next:
dissonant noises.
not all sounds are pleasant.

thank you
for teaching me that hurt heals
and anger subsides.

lessons worth learning are hard.
hard as rocks, which press you, mash you into pulp.
but even mush and marrow have purpose.

(thank you). the bitterness of my
appreciation does not escape me.