Silent Movie

The piano player begins as the grainy black and white
film starts— A wedding! The hero walks out of the church

with his sweet bride on his arm. The world, though silent,
seems their oyster. They have a house to put together 

(by number, like Ikea) and their love will be the glue 
and the finish. But disaster is a spurned, jealous suitor,

switching the plans for doors and windows, tilting
the roof so it sits like a trapezoid opening its mouth

to rain. But our hero is earnest. He believes in ropes
and pulleys, a trusty hammer, a box of nails. He walks

into brick walls, falls from a height, yet he is nothing
but pure conviction. He is unfazed— like a trick 

birthday candle that refuses to be put out,
an optimist with a smacked face and likely

many bruises under the jacket and suspenders. 
They must have an upright piano in the living room! 

A bathtub below a natural skylight—anything
for his love! The train is coming down the tracks 

straight at them, its only thought the decimation of whatever 
is in its path. The girl still believes in him, the way we believe 

goodness is there like a sky which isn't just a painted 
backdrop,  though the world is full of breakable things.