The Ballroom of Longing and Light

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The years

drift by.

Muzzy.

Half-empty bed

abandoned chair,

a pair of hopeful brogues

waiting

for one last invitation

to begin the beguine beneath

the stars and night wash of

The Ballroom of Longing and Light 

Until

grief—

like my soul,

and my refusal to forgive—

softens 

into the 

low keening song

of the mother whale,

whose notes

fall like  tears

along the salted cheek

of the living sea—

where an armada

of bottles 

have landed

green glass and cork

each one carrying the same 

handwritten message

in the bellies of their hulls

that say:

"I miss you more."

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