In Memory of Rosie DeJong
Sometimes in my dreams,
I’m thinking of you.
music is pouring down on me like rain.
I hear the sound of your laughter.
I can hear thunder, but it is soft, and very far away.
I see the clouds high above the moon.
Somewhere in a small house,
I can see right through the windows.
George is playing
The music is soft; touching me
on the black keys, never touching the white ones.
like a forest stream.
His fingers are floating over them
The water ripples in the wind.
like a memory slowly unfolding itself.
I can see you right here before me.
If you were to ask me
I can almost taste your skin.
the sound of that music,
It is like electricity.
I would tell you it is a sound like no other.
My heart is opening like a breached dam.
It is the scent of orchids blooming in the restless night.
The flowers are endless.
It is your sound, Rosie.
I hear only whispers.
Peace.