I Want To Hear The Song Yet You Have Not Sung

LAST SONG

(For Ginny)

I want to hear

your alto art of virtual vibrato

that I have always loved you for.

The cords of your languished

low lovely slender voice

like summer rain pattering

syncopation of heart and spirit.

I long to rise

from my bed

as gaze of morning light

nestles in the sanctuary

of your song’s passion and

precious procession.

Do not try to understand these words.

Let them be.

Let your morphine drip be a field of poppies

As emotions tear my shirt

against my hearts notion of creations injustice.

Could I weep the cancer in you away

I would surely cry until my eyes

were a desert.

Photograph of Bagpiper in Juneau