Finding Old Poetry

Transitions into fall always have me looking through my old poetry from decades ago...

(Image generated with AI)

Untitled

I wonder if I am writing to a ghost.  

Like listening to Rubinstein

play Chopin and

Beethoven—

with fingers fresh 

and newly prepared.

They are alive like the colors

of fish.  

I sit down and play

Pathetique,

trying to avoid the 2nd movement.    

Afterglow,

but it fades.

Everything fades...  

Where are you? 

I find myself

looking for your apparition.

I do not know if even 

that exists.  

It is maddening.  

You have my eyes,

my longing.

Time has taken my mind.

--jazzie de Leon