It’s 3 am Sunday in October
and already I’m playing Mathis’s
“Merry Christmas” album. Playing over
and over. Ultimate love songs, I guess,
in this age of hate. Singing in whispers
along with him…softly so I won’t wake
the neighbors. Singing softly like vespers
in some ancient monastery. I take
deep breaths as I recall all my past lives.
Lost loves. Amazing plans now hidden deep
in darkest clouds. I suppose it’d prove wise
to just be grateful for good health. To keep
promises. To call those I love. It’s fine
to see just what this is: Oh night divine.
Roger Armbrust
October 27, 2019
