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,
- Richard Hacken after Emily Dickinson