God in the subway.

in that moment,
when his stained fingernails gripped nothing but a plectrum and when
his lower lip oscillated and when
his ragged body couldn't hold the fervor of the music he pulsated,
i cried because I knew:
God was there and
in the madness of my complete inadequacy to love her
the way she deserves to be loved,
my complete inadequacy to allow breathing space for weakness,
He loved me enough to crease my hands with a jarring ache to
martyr my emotions over
the black and white eighty eight.
back home, the subway scene persuades my fingers
to let go and to hold on.
Brickman. Schumann. Hayes. Chopin.
poverty and vulnerability and oxygen and intimacy.
music intercedes when i can't and I know:
God is here and
his grace will sustain even me.