© 2012 Steve King
All rights reserved
So much formality I should not force—
this coolness and austere reserve,
the unrelenting conversation
disguising just how little
there is now to be said.
Soon there will be silence,
and phantoms better suited
for this ceaseless shadow play;
the shrinking reservoir
of common memories
must serve to drain the leavings of each day.
Then shall I drink quickly of the lees,
and wonder freely of what might remain:
listening for echoes where once were sundry sounds;
inventing better days that should have been.