for Raymond Englerth
When Olive Kelly sang to me at dawn
back in ’93, we two watching sky
melt to liquid flame over Lough Mahon,
her Rebel throat quivering, I’d swear I
heard those grand windows shattering along
South Ring Road, or perhaps I simply sensed
her ripping my heart apart. Her sad song
burns through me these years later, recompense
for my abandoning her crystal eyes
catching sunrise, for choosing my Pyrrhic
independence to lie here old and wise,
so to speak, hearing her haunting lyric:
Nights are so long and the silence goes on
I’m feeling so tired, I’m not all that strong
Roger Armbrust
December 2, 2011
