the words came clearly, shining,
by the kettle early. knowing
i must write,.disappearance on
the stairs, may they drift in later
like a moth, soft and quietning.
now i write nothing, just
the shapes and patterns,
the notes on keys, tapping.
usually the same each morning,
until the differences,
show, and we are challenged.
john lord is gone, his words and sounds
remain.
sbm.
jon lord
sonja benskin mesher 