Monthly Archives: August 2018

Like You

Long thin fingers fly and float
over guitar strings, drum
skins, keyboards. They pluck

and press, push and rest,
painting stories with sound
and sleep. There is a rumble,

a murmur-mumble. There’s
a strum, a thrum, a
rock beat, a bop. There
is a cascade of notes,

a steady tone, an open
chord. There is a whir of
wheels, a bounce of balls,

a blast, a blare (there),
a burst never curst, roar
of jets, a roar, a roaring,

a flare, where the hollow
of the past curves ’round
silence. Mute answers
to questions never asked.

Everything I say is, was.
Everything. It’s all in
round numbers. The date

you began. The date
you weren’t. Ages, years, gifts.
“I feel moved,” you began, then

spun on wheels whirling like
laughter, curved like smiles,
round as eyes. It was
a piece of everything.

In memoriam, Carl A. Larkins, 1948-2018

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