It is such a sad sound;
music at night
when he thinks I’m asleep.
It’s a beautiful song.
The music, the tune.
It sounds like Haydn,
“Deutschland, Deutschland…”
Terrible, and sad,
what that music became.
Outside, I hear foxes,
it’s spring, when they mate.
It is such a sad sound;
hunger and need.
He sits in his chair
with his back to the door.
He thinks I’m asleep;
I stand bare and plucked
like a violin string.
He reads a letter,
out loud,
to me.
What we were.
What we became.
It’s the saddest sound in the world, I think.