And now the
Angels sing songs
Of lullaby’s in
Haydn and Mozart
They tink sweetly
In my heart
Like a tap
On crystal stems
Like the sound
I imagine of
A dew drop
Bouncing off a
Rose petal or
The sound of
Falling leaves as
They land softly
On a carpet
Of amber these
Are the sounds
Of nature that
We hear if
Only we listen
Now you’re back
With him like
A lost dog
I found wandering
And enjoyed returned
To his master
We romped and
Ran wrestled and
Rested in prairies
Of lavender though
I’m now alone
I know that
You’re heart is
Singing tail wagging
At being home
When I hear
Debussy’s Nocturne I
Turn to jelly
For in it
I become me
We all have
Our song some
Of us write
It while others
Sing some whistle
And others rap
Find yours so
That someone else
Can also find
You right there
And then just
As the line
Went dead an
Envelope glided in
The mail slot
Inside you said
The things that
You couldn’t before
Sitting on floor
The now damp
Letter bled as
I did reading
The words goodbye
Now silence in
Worlds of memories
Like low tide
Love is subtle
My life’s men
Have become like
A series of
Postcards of places
Past filed in
A box called
My heart hidden
In the basement
Of my mind
Sought only when
I’m no longer
Being an explorer
I open it
And look at
Them remembering Curitiba
Or Andes or
Denver or Paris
They each bring
With them memories
Of the mountains
Of shoulders the
Slopes of throats
The bellied pastures
And eyed lakes
Men that have
Been long ago
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 