For too few marvelled moments,
my left hand winged the Swell,
and Bach’s angel host—
his Engel Schar—infused
the dark organ loft
with light. Don’t be afraid.
My teacher and I speechless
at what I’d brought about.

I’d often wondered it—
if I could know what Bach
or Jesus, say, knew
for just one day, would I
remember how to be
when I came to myself?
Or would I stay, like Bottom—
Most rare vision!—dream
pleased, my hands again
inarticulate?