Lost Souls
by Mark Murphy


I heard of a man who dreamt whole operas
for you when he slept, but they could never be scored
and so you could never hear them. I heard
of a boy who waited all night for you outside
your window in the snow, until his breath froze still.
I heard of choirs that had stopped their singing,
and divinities that had outlived their usefulness.
This is how it is with memory, the world freezes
over, the late frost hardens unfamiliar ground,
longings flare up, and in the dawn a boy is ruined-
this is the only music for a while, we conjure
these apparitions together in our going away
from each other, we are left with only tricks
the mind can play to assuage a heart in turmoil.






Copyright 2019 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.