(Written while listening to Drift by Brian Eno)

One note hovers above the orchestra,
A ghost with a sustained voice.

Textures of sound –
mostly a murmuring
rises from the audience.

Your disembodied echo
is like an organ on Halloween.
I’m the kind of person,

who walks through graveyards
for the sake of company. I like
to trace the names etched in stone.

Around this time of year,
the violins like to mimic one sound
you used to make.

When they do, everyone claps.
But yours was far more than that.
It was like death in her coffin.

It was like,
A ghost with a sustained voice.


When I was a kid, I would draw spooky night scenes. There’d be an old, scraggly tree sitting atop a hill and lightning coming from ominous looking clouds. Sometimes, I’d try to draw an owl, but every time, I drew a gravestone that was cracked. I wrote RIP in big letters before I ever knew what it stood for. I always thought it meant something scary. I came to find out it wasn’t scary at all, it was actually kind of sweet. Rest-in-peace. I like that, I decided. Hopefully, one day I will.