Now is the time for drowsy tanagers. -– E.S.

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First I lost the tick of snowflakes hitting glass.

Then the sound of the cat’s tongue running over her fur.

It used to be I could almost hear her tail moving,

The muscles of the back stretching, the yawn going to a different register…

I lost the buzz of the fly, the distant hammer of my neighbor fixing his roof,

The whine of wind in the rafters and the exact words you speak

As you walk away, rooms opening to other rooms, houses full

Of music I’ll never hear as I walk by. The tinny laughter

Of television sitcoms I don’t miss,

Nor bus-farts nor gunshots of the cops

But Louis Armstrong, Bessie Smith… missing a few notes

Means losing the whole song, the way all the beads

Fall to the floor when the string breaks.

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What I miss…