Stars Shining Bright Above You…

In the beginning
there were
those naked, rainy nights with Ali Farka
the hard twang and heavy, solo chords
passing between our one breath
those mornings cramped in my apartment
steeped in wet lilacs I’d just picked
and black coffee, some Peggy Lee
those moments that were like music
the organic soul of an acoustic guitar
plucking the breathy, aching voice.

In the middle
there were
those afternoons of sweats and ice cream
patterns, and a light, faint sound
on repeat through our new house
those nights of lazy curiosities
brief Whys and Maybes and Will We
asleep in the rivers of Cat Stevens
those dreams that were like falling
then catching yourself, wide awake
in a strange bed, remembering who you are.

In the end
there is
Rachmaninoff, the blackness of Chopin’s Nocturne #9
lonely, hard keys separate and loud
in empty rooms that echo between us
Lilacs, overgrown in the yard, waiting for rain
Bob Dylan speeding up the truth in my car
on the radio as I drive away
Me, a lost song.