A warm summer night and sips of whiskey
I feel this moment like a mystery
It hurts to know she isn't here
growing old, changing, bending an ear
A sibilant song from an insect chorus
I know their repetitions aren't for me
Just like mine aren't for them
But then...who are they for?
A still air surrounds yellow lamplight
It isn't quiet but cars pass slower
I well up a little when I imagine
the things she would say.
But I was of her repetitions
they weren’t for me.