Elegy for the Dead Spirit

Every day she sang

sometimes “Oklahoma”

at the top of her lungs

in an empty house

with floorboards creaking

roof whispering with ghosts

After midnight low flute tones

murmured, a fugue as if she knew

her hopes fandangoed with futility

“Canon in D,” “Morning Has Broken”

Her heart once so big, open

she’d make you smile with hers

Laughter so real, its own music

Gone, she took the sun imprudently

mistakenly, unintentionally

The rains come like tears

Wipe away your misery

She may phoenix yet.

 

end 4/3/2017

S. Darlington