Life With Horace

poetry & essays


Not quite endings

The music stopped, shimmering
in dust beamed space
our voices stilled, waiting
for the flood of response.
I fall into the silence
all energy given away
to singing’s singular joy.

What I thought was love,
no holding back,
died. Stabbed and poked
to rubble not worth picking through,
a lucky escape it turns out
in time to save my heart
and savor all that’s left.

A long goodbye jumps the queue
to sudden extinction.
Love lives on the mountain
ashes soaking into moss,
his spirit coming back
to say that 40 years were
worth it all in all
and how are things?

The chatter quieted
thank god, and in its place
a single sound takes shape. One note
clearly formed on endless breath.
Much to my delight I find
it comes from me,
I had been singing all along
and never knew.

a prompt from tonight’s writing group with Doug Anderson: endings