I hear you sob out songs
full of Bell Jarred despair
I humm your melodies and
drum fingertips upon my soul…
I watch your slow disintegration
and hope I remember this time
to breathe in deeply, and thus
capture you in tiny, sad particles
I reach for you and grab nothing
but fistfulls of chilled, absent air,
and yet I feel you, tepid and
afraid, next to me when I sleep…
And I know that this is not news,
But I hear you Sylvia sing the Blues.