I dream’t, for I would, the picture
Of love transcending worldly chains.
I touched my butterfly stomach
And counted the treasure love gains.
Magician, wizard, or prophet,
Or just a gifted musical man,
The artist forever known as himself
Transcended any image or plans.
The best I can offer is tribute,
A juvenile jumble of letters,
I don’t presume to be worthy
Of the music and tales of my betters.
So here we are, the remains
Of wreckage in the world left behind.
At least he still comforts our pains,
Music, medicine born of his mind.
What is to be said? I was born. I will die. I look white, my wife is black. My great grandfather was Filipino. I do neuroscience research. My name is Bryan J. Maloney.