sanctum sanctorum our windowless attic candlelit in which trembled my shadow
our windowless attic walled round by records trembled my shadow stacks of spiral-
bound fake books walled round by records there I sat under stacks of spiral-bound
fake books in an outsized shirt there I sat under your brass galaxy of notes in an
outsized shirt horn like a raised fist your brass galaxy of notes overhead shining
horn like a raised fist running my fingers through dust overhead shining how could
I be heard running my fingers through dust one rainy evening how could I be
heard a dented tuba I found one rainy evening hugged it to my chest a pockmarked
tuba I found with red cheeks ballooned hugged it to my chest blew a long low
whale-like moan with red cheeks ballooned into the quiet blew a long low whale-
like moan whereupon you turned into the quiet told me to think vertically
whereupon you turned to your sheet music told me to think vertically or were you
talking to your sheet music the rain snare-rolling the roof or were you talking my
heart a doomed moth the rain snare-rolling the roof your horn upraising my heart
a doomed moth candlelit in which I’m burning to hear you still sanctum sanctorum

Jaydn DeWald

Jaydn DeWald is a writer, teacher, and jazz bassist living in Georgia, USA. He has two forthcoming chapbooks.