there’s that smoky jazz club with its aubergine walls and golden arabesque scrolls adorning them, its tinkling glassware and hushed conversations, its muted trumpet and delicate piano, its drums beating a soft and slow rhythm in complement with the bass standing upright in the corner of the stage. reclining at the table in a verdant green and velvet dress, ruby teardrops suspended from ears and neck, sipping amethyst cordials from a miniature gold chalice, head tilted back, gazing up at the glass arcade with the stars shining through. scaling the chords between its iron bars and tempered pains– (shattered glass, paneful aches)– floating gently, so gently, into the tranquil and holy night. now sleepsleepsleeping softly, slipping into a bed of clouds and resting on pillows stuffed with the fireflies that fill dreams to overflowing with Life, waking to a warm and luminous day filled with Beauty and Light, don’t be afraid to fall down and scale the chords once more in the night.