She played music -
music you’d leave your windows open for.
She rolled into rooms you’d forgotten
and soaked into your cellar until your childhood
floated right up to today and stayed for your tomorrows.

She was like that – building new foundations,
or maybe bridges
between now and then,
leaving pathways your feet could find even
once the last note has finished for the day.

She made music that stayed and stained,
leaving her trace, so you could find her again,
like when you returned from years away.
She had an authentic taste, softly unique
and hard to forget.

I remember one song that ran high,
almost out of reach,
then reaching down into my outstretched eyes,
filling them to overflowing and blurring
the pain for a while.

She played music -
music you’d leave both eyes open for.