once there was no song
at least none that she could hear
it came slow at first
just a whisper
but it's louder now
he is like that music, this man
she doesn't know where it comes from
but that doesn't mean it's not there
she knows things, too, this woman
like a gypsy at a carnival
or a baseball queen in Raleigh
but she never dreamed this would be
her last gift to him
or was it his last gift to her?
either way it was moving
and beautiful
and right
still, at night her heart grows strange to itself
dreams of him still dwell in her
never to vacate
the music doesn't work then
it just gets lost
swallowed up by all that air
she wants to be all right,
alone, late at night
she just doesn't know what all right is
all she knows is what that
disfigured, partial person tells her
no anger
just a hollow sadness
some things in life just . . . are