that last song was wrung from me by surprise
the breath had slipped from me and left me still.
if others take up the tune and rise
to its occasion - each voice would spill
those words where I at last found silence -
having had my fill of song. I let go
the insect with which I had alliance
and am not the emergent imago
you can hear - but its abandoned husk.
make sure you pick up gently my crisp ghost
and pale shadow - and see if you can busk
the song and render it better than most.
song - both sad and happy at being sung -
I am the debris to which you clung.
26 June 2021