The Greatest Harp

My pen is like a blues riff, not always on the note I bend within the moment, new feelings reach for hope A eulogy unspoken, on fire around his bed The Mojo dancing with the Muse, Marine Band in my head The words they stretch and vibrate, a blind man theirs to read They move in tribute off the page, like Sonny’s orphaned reeds My hand they cease to follow, as letters wail and slide And somewhere deep in Arkansas, —the greatest harp just died (Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)