To be sure.....

to be sure, it was a wrench, the
loss of his talk, the hands
round her waist, love coming in
at the eyes

then the long years, marked by
telegraph posts passing the windows,
thrip, thrip, thrip, regular as
breathing

plating food and pouring drinks, and
repeat as the needle hits the
grooves of the vinyl and the
scratchpop cannot hide that
old song, replete with corn syrup

we lulled ourselves to sleep with,
familiar snatches of melody to
weave into a quilt to
cover ourselves, warmth in winter

after the long hot summer and
sweet bird of youth had flown......