Little Mozart,
I watch you on video –
All I know of you now –
And you coax so easily all the stage to yourself
Yet laugh and smile still delightful and true,
And you make tinkle the simplest of things:
The delicate glass, the glistening snow,
All that tickles your pure gentle heart –
I ask, what are your thoughts? 
That happy medicine you hold I ought
To discover in “me” someday
If I would dust those deep, deep cellars of
My disorderly arrangement of nerves. 
But you locked yourself in one of those cellars
At the first flames of fever –
The stellar prominences –
The triumph of that sun of raging desire –
Then, the tears, thundering tears,
The forte of lightning and tremolo of soul –
The last of the Requiem reverberated…

While, Little Mozart,
You remain in the cellar
(I know you must)
Sheltered with joy,
Dreaming in song.