I try not to love it–
I always side on the right side of the song writer
and less near the performer–
But that first breath of Hallelujah
when Buckley makes it his
takes me back to that room
with its misguided love and doom
the chandelier too low
the bed too high
and everything about us too romantic
too right place at the wrong time.
I fight it now–the way one fights oneself
when you know you didn’t win the war.
I melt through the notes of his guitar
I remember how you played me
through your finger tips.
A moment of hallelujah upon us
and then it ends.
