Of a Song

I heard a song come in from across the seas.
It came down, like a falling petal, from the starry nightsky.
The melodies were of a lightness of the soul
and the harmonies sourced up from deep down in the heart.
I heard this song, fallen down from the clouds up high,
and it expanded in me. It grew as a child grows,
with turbulence and joy and pain and wonder.
It lingered, it lingered for what I thought was so long,
stayed with me like a lover during the warmth of summer.
I indulged in its lilts and romance, I freely admit.
It led me through meadows and in and out of dreams,
with nothing but a fine note or two, or a whole theme.
I think it felt to me like love, or perhaps spoke of my own,
one lost long ago or unrequited. Yes, it was touched
by the softest tinge of inconsolable, bittersweet sorrow.
And in that sorrow came a flood of nostalgia,
and a smile brought on by memories of happiness,
and sadness too—for what is love if not a most welcome pain?
This song, it left me too soon, abandoned me
to the ordinariness and blankness of the world.
This dream in sound, I fell into it like one would fall
into the eyes of the loveliest of women.
But the dream, the song, ended, like the closing of her eyes:
a moment of bliss cut short and stolen away.

M.M. — 08-Mar-2015