I Dream I'm the Death of Jeff Buckley
- a new poem

You know the folklore -
how I assumed the force and dredge
of the river’s waters, carried

the melancholy song of one
already lost to the world,
carried along and under.

A wonder, his music was whatever
whispered through the grassy
banks that day, bittersweet

glister of love and memory.
But we were one by then -
impossible to tell form from flow,

matter from depths, as the song
becomes the singer, the singer
lost in song. We are gone,

and all that remains of that dream
dredged moment is flotsam:
the held note, an empty bottle,

this lump in the throat
as the record gives grace.

poem by Ben Wilkinson

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