FLUTE

I am almost thirty and nowhere

in the house is there a flute.

Someone should be notified!

For I am at heart an elegist,

smitten by morning fog,

stationed at every window

I can find a privacy for.

A flute ought always be playing

somewhere in the background,

a reed-lift seeming

to stretch whatever time is.

I have not turned to shadow yet,

have I? To be sequestered

with only a flute, and its

one note varying and spirit-stunned:

add me to that list no one has found.

appeared in Hayden’s Ferry Review, Issue 25