An Abyss Might Open

CLICKs—string section turns from bow, to tapping out our intuition:
TONIC will never sound this work’s last note.
SUITE races to conclusion: one vast, deep, discordant
TOCSIN. The building vibrates, an abyss might open.

Grow My Hope

CHIEF end easily submerged, thrown to margin amidst
SWIRL, the bruising pace of sense’s inflow, reel of world and me.
SHUSH, frantic welter of accidents and trespass!
OUTDO them, Salvator Mundi, grow my hope.