Wordless notes at parting
that have always brought tears
Gathered by a seer whose side job
is dowsing a Scottish lament
A violin strung mourning aid
and quiet picked guitar
prompted shards of loss
to call me kin
Even with young children then
and a loving life all the dogs
still alive, the Celt in me
keened for another’s loss
Yesterday it barred the way
asking to be heard again
And not wanting a scolding
from my highland ghosts
I stood aside and cried
for that younger life
Of a hand laid soft on
his shoulder as I passed by
Or his kiss on my wrist
Not willing to waste
incidental moments
Grateful for those times
and the conjures of old
hands on strings
As the world mourns
and I reach for
the comfort of my dogs

Audio: Read by the author.