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.