Rosie’s Dream

In Memory of Rosie DeJong

Sometimes in my dreams

music is pouring down on me like rain.

I can hear thunder,

but it is soft, and very far away.

Somewhere in a small house,

George is playing on the black keys,

never touching the white ones.

His fingers are floating over them

like a memory unfolding itself.

If you were to ask me

the sound of that music, I would tell you

it is a sound like no other. It is

the scent of orchids blooming

in the restless night. It is your sound, Rosie.

Peace.