Leitmotif

Leitmotif

I
A piano, silent,
blushed with dust.
The songs it sung now fill
a distant room.

II
Time drives its wedge;
we both knew you'd leave.
Still it's hard to bare.

III
The few things you left behind
surface like mines
to blow holes through the day.

IV
Like the fourth grade piece
(snagged behind your desk)
I wish that one of us could play
to make believe you're home.