“Lord have mercy,”
you dolefully sigh,
your song awaiting


my reply.
”Have Mercy on me,”
each chord explains,


your baby is lost
and torn heart pains.
With tired feet


I softly croon
my dark agreement,
a bluesy tune.


I stir my cocoa –
a condoling toast –
and welcome you in


as your lonely host.
Suspended in your
mournful zephyr,


I bear the wounds
you’ll always suffer,
the Atlas burden

that breaks your back,
your scarlet letter
weathered black,


and offer you
my own lament
of how my stormy


Monday went.
Then, like a
wing-footed Gabriel,


he sings his
holy madrigal.
With merciful swiftness

my beloved appears,
and whispers,
”Darling, I am here,”


Then our duet becomes
one person less,
As I am
            undone
                        with
              ­                 happiness.