Response to Christina Rosetti’s “Song”

When I am dead, my dearest,
unhinge the case to my viola.
Rest your chin upon its mahogany,
and pull the horse hair across:

“Beautiful dreamer, dream unto me.”

You will not remember how-
with a shallow and fast bow-
I played the same for my father.

I shall not cringe at your shaky tone;
I shall not turn away;
I shall not hear the music
of the stirred female hearts.

I may skip and twirl instead
to a memory, and dream no more
of this beautiful dream, now dreamt unto me.




September, 2009
Merano, Italy