Cascades

Quiet echos
rain on Washington grass
too green too real
I sit back
sipping cheap wine
almost choking
to yell out the 
tune of you
music
sadness of
subtle sober
banjo strings
warped memories
pushing space
backwards
revealing melodies
reverberations
of who I was
who we were
maybe I will
write down
all the sounds
next time
I’m alive.

Nikki Lockhart