jon lord

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

 

.prompt.

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