Classic Poem

“Over my organ-keys in the twilight
Slowly, aimlessly, wander my fingers,
Impotent now to build, from the muted
Notes and broken sequences and diminished
Chords, an echo of you.
Chanting slowly now in the deepening darkness
Rises the host of implacable memories.
Into the darkness dies the wandering music,
And I remember the poignant you alone.”