Echo

I have a bubble
of music
swelling inside:
the silent walls,
the cold
structures of silence.

It is a tiny
flame of sound,
a flickering leap
upon the smooth
slabs of concrete.

I saw the rain
fall today
like an army of silent
white deaths.

And I wanted
to join its
fragile drops.

A minor chord
aches,
yes it resonates,
inside a minor heart.

I pressed down
decadently on
the guitar fretboard.

The dark is draped with echo.