King of my heart,
the fabled phoenix
hides her scorched head
beneath her wing in shame,
compared to you.
Rising fresh from the still-hot embers
down from the mountain, giddy and exultant.
you set fire to the nights.
Asleep in our beds,
we dreamed wailing and stomping
portentous gigantic mysterious
music no one ever made
before or since you.
Glorying in life, rightly named a king,
you chose me. We raised the roof plenty
raised two kids two dogs two cats
gave twenty-two turkey dinners.
Big hands relaxed on the knife, laughing
you served up the feast.
Those hands loved me.
Bed together was our constant pleasure
a double feast of coupling
then reading all day,
greedy, joyous, content.
Your music so big your mind so big
your heart so big I lived inside it.
Are 57 years enough for life?
are 24 enough for love?
it seems it must be so.