The final note has left the air; The chairs stand crooked in a row. A scarf lies folded on a chair, Where one small lamp still makes a glow.
The drummer shuts a battered case; The singer rolls her music tight. Their voices filled this narrow place, Then slipped away into the night.
I stack the cups beside the sink And close the window on the rain. The quiet gives me time to think Of words I hope to hear again.
No song remains upon the floor, No chorus hangs against the wall. Yet when I reach to lock the door, I pause, remembering them all.