He slowly came into view,
Paddling red canoe,
Softly singing the blues,
Following shadows of the afternoon
Across the lake, stroking water,
Bringing sadness into song.
Sat there on the porch and listened,
His raspy voice ascending in the
Stillness of the brightest air.
It was absolutely august as it deepened,
Light shifting as clouds became a
Silent audience, holding sorrow
Faintly visible as shafts of sun
Broke through, played upon the lake,
Echoed from mirrored surface to
Shore of wilting flowers in the heat.
Strained to hear the words, unclear,
Distorted by the weeping willow,
Though pretty sure I heard “love”
Sung within the chorus of his heart…
So sad it touched the sadness
Held within my aching heart—
Hearing the blues in heat of afternoon,
Sung solitary from that slender red canoe,
Long before the sunlight
Turned to twilight, turned to dark.