• She sits, alone.
    Singing softly,
    a song no one was supposed to hear.

    But I heard.

    "I stand outside my child, and greet the rising moon
    but one night
    the moon will rise
    and shine it's light, upon my grave
    and you will feel me smiling
    from deep within the earth"

    It's tune is not solemn
    nor is it jaunty
    amelodic,
    hypnotic
    it makes me fall into sleep

    He chop's softly,
    cutting carrots quietly,
    for tonight's dinner.
    Pouring them into the
    black, William Sonoma pot,
    the Chicken Stock burbling quietly

    I watch through the window
    Rosemary falling into the pot
    like Mozart's quarter notes onto a page.

    and I,
    fall asleep,
    dreaming softly
    of a song,
    and a meal