Caroline lays upon the couch, eyes closed,
the wall of warm noise in her headphones.
It’s night, and the stars and the city shines.
Alone, the music embraces, soothes, quiets her.
Overlapping guitars and that angel voice,
that mournful woman, haunted and holy.
A cocoon of sound and thunder, the words
half heard and wholly felt, taking her to the sky.
The night is warm, her heart is full of love,
and she dreams again, for the first time in so long.
That mournful woman, calling back something lost,
but maybe in calling it back, it can be made whole again.
Maybe Caroline can be whole again.