La Sonnambula

That'll be the day:
the spangled memory
of you in your sunglasses
like Doris Day--
sometime after the endless
long stairways and beautiful
spaces you'll wonder why
there wasn't music playing,
say Brahms or Strauss.

In the Miami
Valley apple blossoms
are counting the days--
up on the hill the last
strains of La Sonnambula
are playing while
I explain my life,
everything in it.
I am moved by your simplicity
and the small decorations
telling me so much. You know

I like the sun too.