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The Music
In those moments
The sweetness returned
Reminding me
Of what I thought was gone.
I'll tell you more:
It was the music
Played again
That spoke of passion quietly
And in the touch
(My head on your shoulder)
Gathering in the memory
And bringing resolution.
There was the heat of the rock
The dry smell of summer
And the river running on
Like days beneath our feet
Where we clasped each other
On that old bridge.
These memories and others
Note by note, are creeping back
Because of the harmony
Of your remembering gaze
And the old feel
Of your shirt beneath my fingers.
It has all been said
One way or another.
The piece, slow, from a far time
Reminds me how often.
And now, when all I have
Is in the movement of this music
It is enough.
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