Rachmaninoff On The Northside Of Minneapolis Poem by r james sterzinger

Driving through the north side
listening to a very old recording:
Rachmaninoff.

each note seems to fit
on a day such as this

as the music plays
i think of the poet
Wallace Stevens
who worked a regular job
like me

figuring out his verse
working it out on his way home
each word made to fit
like stones in a wall

suddenly my thoughts turn
toward you who i don't really
understand any more than i do
every note of Rachmaninoff
or every nuiance of Stevens

it all works for me today, though
Rachmaninoff,
Stevens and you

and the composer
and the poet
and you my friend
from Moscow
have made me smile
and i have a feeling
that my depression
has lifted today...
for a while

this winter sky though
is as dull and gray
as an old butter knife

and the bells at the church
are ringing out as sad requiem
for a man who has died