By Rose Mary Boehm
There is no sleep, just deep exhaustion.
And as I probe the mists of life I am surprised
by finding unexpected riches.
Like Pharaoh, I have been well endowed
with all the preciousness I need
for an eternal death time and beyond.
A treasure chest filled to the brim
with lasting gifts of boundless value
has sprung its lid, its contents
spilled into my memories.
Just now I heard the nightingale which sang
one night for me and my new love
and filled my heart until it broke
from too much beauty, too much wonder.
A tango wafts from somewhere,
a tender touch floats into vision,
shy as a new bride.
Twelve pairs of hands hold ropes to let a coffin
slide slowly into newly wounded earth;
a solitary bagpipe plays a sad lament.
I fill with happiness because I understand.
Oh, over there – a naked fiddler
sits lotus on a sideboard in the room
of a hotel that has seen better days.
A bar of Bach or two…
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