A Poem
In the wee hours
shoes in hand
they’d lie back and listen
music and laughter
late night revels
or at least pieces
drifting
through that poorly-glazed window
Once a woman sang
round and round
fading and rising
falling and lifting
an aria to the orange night
Once a piano sprung
impossibly
to life
And once
on the strangest of nights
a didgeridoo
She remembers that didgeridoo
now
when the hours are old
and the skylight is hung tight
against rain and sky
making air seem precious
and silence takes up all of existence
and silence is the night
