Tin roof tintype,
a metronome snapshot
of the spaces between raindrops.
An accompaniment,
heaven sent,
for better or worse,
this intermediary between
grey skies and green

A melancholy rendering
Of this familiar,
many splendored thing.

Often we were defined by harmony,
And it seemed we never knew dischord
The piano keys, bone bright
Ivory white and always
Helped me find my way home again.

You were a gateway,
A door that hung on hinges
With a heart that hinged on the weight of a glance
Like a whispered memory of the way my pale skin looked under both moonlight
And you.