I struck the sound that filled
the empty room,
and left alone
with only my own note,
a note that my own silence trilled
into the echoes of the time
and the burning place
that lay within
I fled the marge
with the motion
of a fire,
but faster gone.


About the Author: New Orleanian poet E.R. Hille (1911-1991) surely thought the world was finished reading his poetry. Poydras wants to assure that never happens.