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A Realm of Shattered Time
(To Leonard Cohen–on hearing of his passing)
by Michael Graves
I remember when you first sang to me
of Suzanne and of the river.
I heard your voice crawl forth like some
massive tree–growing from
the bottom of a deep, hollow
well–searching for water.
You bid farewell to Marianne
sang Hallelujah in the darkened night.
And promised in poetic verse, that
I'd be hearing from you
long after you're gone. Long
after the river widened
beyond the point of passing.
You walked the narrow edge of heights;
the long-game in which
the words are not complete
until they're done. Though crafting
carries on for years.
You were there before us. And you
will be there, long
after we're gone.
A light in the darkness.
An icon against which to measure
the critical balance of content
in terms of discontent, albeit with a perfection
which nonetheless creaks with the strain
of being human.
And now, although they say you're gone
if I listen carefully in the empty night
I can hear you coughing
a hundred floors above me
in the Tower of Song.
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