Too familiar are the notes
of Moonlight Sonata to me,
like the hasty hum of roads
searching for a place to flee.
It plays to me always –
or whenever I look through
the stack of sepia pictures.
A wine glass, half-full,
stays within my reach
and sometimes never leaves
as I attempt to bleach
out the red-wine stains
that have dried many times
and are now in sepia – red
in a stack of memories
filling an empty bed.
Too familiar are the sounds
of half-full wine glasses to me
in a rhythmic jingle of rounds
searching for a place to flee...
