Fiddlestick

Oh, I’m in a French mood tonight

looking out the window at the moon

lying lazy on her back in a tattered

velvet sky and the flowers that bloom

in the rubble of the night weaving

their petals into chains and those chains 

into the vast rubble of love

 

Oh yes, this is a night for chandeliers, 

when I have eyes on the faithless sea

that rises and falls with my endless grief

Admit nothing tonight: break everything

that can be broken and banished and

let it be known that the heart 

is nothing but an old fiddlestick

lying forgotten in the grass

 

And yet, tonight this dark house

shudders; the windows allow the

wind free reign of all the territories

of the great and deep unknown

when forgotten footsteps suddenly

are heard again—and a locked 

door opens, words are spoken…

 

Yes, tonight, words are spoken

and me, me, with so little left to say