Round Midnight–by Ken

They could be a downer,
These slowed down blue piano notes,

      That drift around like smoke
       In this nearly empty place,

       I mean it is late,

           And still the tune keeps striding on,
           And then it drops at last into the heart,

                  Note by note its soulful soundings

                         Become the felt truth
                         Of what needs to be said,

                              Pain is inseparable from breath,
                              And the sorrows  that show up  in our laughter,
                              Why, they’re the exhalation,
                              They’re what we bring to each other when it’s late,

             That seems about right,
             They are the gifts found 
             Round midnight in this dim down room.

A Poem by Ken McKeon

2 comments to “Round Midnight–by Ken”
  1. Ken’s line,

    “And then it drops at last into the heart”

    invokes a condolance I received last month:

    One small thing that gave me support, from the Jewish tradition, was a commentary on a line in the Bible:

    The Lord says, “These words which I have given you, thou shalt place them upon thy heart.”

    Why does the text say, “upon thy heart,” and not “in thy heart?”

    The answer: you place them upon your heart so that when your heart breaks, they fall in.

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