blue guitar

her blue guitar leans in the corner

against the stereo speaker

where she placed it

she liked as she used to tell him in bed after they made love how invisible fingers

radiating from the speaker held it stroked it strings played impossible chords

the guitar sounded so different

shed never be able to recreate that music  imagine or remember it

she said often the music was in accord to the music hed play during their lazy afternoons together

his imperfect scratched 78s the keenly-guarded refined 33 1/3s  and those raucous 45s

she loved the echoes in her guitar its reverberations slipping like snakes in its chamber

she loved how the wind moving through the house visited it too  

those days when she complained it was too cold and why did he have to have the house open  

and on those days when the house was too hot
and the overhead fanblades were desperate to have their go at it
and the days since
when she hadnt been there to complain

but he would imagine she did
imagine all the qualities of her voiceits timbre and tone

when she was elated

or distraught

when she was dreamy and contemplative

or singing with her eyes closed

all her persons he loved  and didnt  that she shared with him every moment they improbably had  

without thought hesitation  or reservation

they  figuring improbably  that they would always have
stretched across the wide warm gulf of their living together

and now the sound hole of her guitar seemed far far larger  for each and every day

they didnt have

he was jealous of her guitar

her fingerprints her tentarch orweretheywhorls invisibly etched onto its strings  

its frets and tuning keys

                         her oils and scent on it

they were gone from him

                     his midnight showers eroded them from his skin its streams of water deafening his ears so he couldnt hear his crying or feel his hot tears running down his face
deafening him
a reason he fingered
because he could no longer hear her       

hear her voices 
feel her touch

blue

      her blue guitar

leaning dusty at the speaker

near the albums and jackets and paper slips brittlely ageing  yellowing  without the kiss of sunlight

as he

without her kisses

warm touches

reviving strokes


blue

1502,  Clover Sunday,  1  6. 14