Sister, today I sit by the bench outside the house
where I used to wait for the long shadow of evening.
I remember you still as you were that final summer.
You were a bird in repose. In your eyes
the ghosts of some distant past were feuding
and their cries found a voice in your songs.
Sister, you cried yourself to sleep one night in September.
Deaf to your pain, I hid away from your sadness.