In the Manner of Emily


Last eve my mind presented me,

                   All bottled bitter in laments,

Its vinegar suspicions of

                   My shy beloved's transience.


Then shed my heart her learn'd restraint,

                   And syrups poured she o'er me sweet,-

O'er all the aches of absence, bliss

                   Anointed me from crown to feet.


T'was then I knew with certitude

                   Of soul, commingled honey sour,

That time on earth were Paradise

                   Sufficient to the hour.




To my trained eye the icons loom

                   Upon a foot-wide screen;

My mouse doth signal Macintosh

                   Electrons yet unseen.


In IBM did I confide

                   Through hours of data loss,-

Now I confess I cannot mourn

                   The death of MS-DOS.




My loved one's soul has gone away

                   To breathe beyond the sun,

Has turned her sequel to the sky

                   Since earthly chores be done.


Immortal is her cottage there,

                   But in this hard gray stone

I fill her chiseled name with tears

                   Because she is alone,-


Or should she, just beyond my sight,

                   With joyful comrades be,

Who, having left this dark behind,

                   Embrace eternity?


                                    - Richard Hacken after Emily Dickinson