Humming Much Better But None You (for E)

Humming much better but none You, no adornment, wits unraveling like sure. Work to
two, the stairwell of spiraling You through the chapel of what to well, the truth so
momentary it might mean anything

threadbare—for fret is grief and music’s neck, for fret is muddle and name bequest,
where not or note, not signature nor sign, this time, but letter to my oldest ghosts, cutting smoke,

eating form, afraid of the book You were, I grew.  In the rooms where You no longer —