Poem by Matthew Buckley Smith


This is the sound 

The drunk heart makes

After it’s drowned 

A life’s mistakes:


The tonic chord

Of a dead quartet

That love ignored

But can’t forget


Who keen and hum

And call not sense

But feeling from



And something true

From the empty air,

And thoughts of you

From anywhere.


 American Arts Quarterly, Spring 2015, Volume 33, Number 2