Listening to Ravel After You’ve Gone

Your jet passes by, marks time and distance
with a fine line that whitens in space. Clouds
fill with rain, go nowhere, resolving nothing.
I turn away from the window, begin to wait
for darkness: it hovers like a bat, head hidden
in wings that hunch over evening like disease.

It’s almost midnight. I cradle your pillow, inhale
your recent heat. In the whorls of my ears, music
shimmers, Ondine undulating through the waves.
I fall through veils of dreams, a disowned angel
quick with pulse.

Scarbo grimaces, bares hobgoblin teeth. Keys
crashing with arpeggios in contrary motion
dissolve water sprites around me, leaving me
with the echo of silence, the hum
of our great hollow house.