Elegy

The breath of music that you were Does not negate the agate sky Or minimize this difficult day Of your departure. There was a hint Of early spring this soft-iced morning; Rimed wet, the birch's twigs were bleak As talons in the watered air; A blackbird stitched across the snow A short-lived temporary suture On worn-down melting drifts. Absurd, Your artist life but half-begun, Sweet child, in this disquieting year

To leave us desolate!, the burr, A knothead in your heart; the wry Rough cruel visitation, a Deleterious growth, unspent In its malevolence. The warning Given, we waited silent, weak, Incredulous the lovely fair Shy being that was you should go so Soon to the benumbing future. The breath of music overheard, Not even the resentful sun Can quite shut out, my dear, my dear!