So is it middle C,

solitary key on the piano

that resonates

within the soul?

Or is a love letter,

perhaps faded and tattered,

maybe stained with tears?

There is no tomorrow,

there is no yesterday,

and today is draped in black.

There is only night,

the middle of the night

with shaded memories

and rueful thoughts

what might have been.

But what might have been.

Was.  Is. Will never be.

So let me kiss you silently to sleep.

Silently so as not to wake

the living,

the dead,

me.

I’ll write you a note