The Night Jeff Buckley Died, Part 2
"I want you to listen to this."
She purred and cupped the
aluminum grey headphones
around my head
like a sonic life preserver
and threw
me into a cold river of reverb
and chilling echo
she called Jeff Buckley.
She slid her warm hand
under my sweatshirt even
as her eyes shifted from living jade
to steel blue. She listened
as I listened, moved her hands
across my heart
as I breathed in the
frosty notes
"Love is not a victory march."
She repeated
at the end of the song. Our embraced carried
along the rocking current of our bus.
for some silent time
as the batteries died.
I wonder what you
told the (talented) painter
to listen to as
you had a passionate collaboration
the drenched San Francisco night before
we got on the bus
together and floated
into our cold sea
of reverb and echo
Ten years later
I had to raise the memory.
Let the water pour out so it can
sit dry on the shore like a monument.
An epigraph reads
I listened.
Now I can remember
"You always were the clever one."
She repeated
at the end.
-TW
