he sits at
the edge of his stool. at
the end of things.
a tumultuous tower before
the edge of void, pressing in;
a piano key hit before
the void of what
we do not know. every sight
to be seen stares back at us now.
him pressing those keys,
playing piano, head tossed back
gazing up to sky
and seeing
our lasting resonance
our closing song played with shut eyes, blackness
before the blackness
a finale
every part of our own making
and still he smiles.
Poem and photography by Hazel J. Hall.
Previously published by Dream Noir.
Hazel J. Hall 
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