Mon Frere Thierry

I live in Vicksburg, Mississippi, now,
but I remember snow
falling on the campus of Purdue and you
and I were thin as sin, 

drank gin and grinned at winter Indiana.

Sandy still plays her violin
and I still can't sing worth shit
or play an instrument,
not even spoons -- but you
were Pan's right hand, the man
who touched the keys of spring,
whose voice caressed
the robin's wing,
and a single feather
like a whispered secret
fell.

And summer is a-coming in,
you sang. Summer is a-coming in
someday.