Then only dust remains

I like listening to the sound

Of beautiful melodies

Ones I haven’t the heart to play

Ones I haven’t the strength to ignore

Mostly those that come in waves

After morning, noon, and night

You can hear them like catching

The glimpse of a shooting star

Barefoot atop San Jacinto

Bend Oregon or Williamsburg highrise

Naked in the ecstasy of flight

Knowing even as your approaching

You’ve already begun to disappear

turning sadness into song

My guitar as of late

has been bringing me

all types of sadness

but it’s a happy sadness

it’s a healing sadness

it’s an honest sadness

I’ve fought so long to forget

that it’s funny how

with no one listening

except the walls and this

box of cous-cous

I haven’t yet opened

but sort of sing to

as it’s eye level on the shelf

where I put my phone to record

I am able to free myself

one melody at a time

turning sadness into song

and song into myself

I sing.