Leonard Cohen 1934-2016


Connections with the Greco muse completed long ago,
I strum my strings. I grind my voice and tug it very low.

Umbrellas propped on St. Laurent to shield the drops of clay,
The silver coating on the clouds completely worn away.

A case of gloom is opened wide. My tears begin to show.
The grip complete around my pen, the verses start to flow.

Completed is my choosing of a suit of dusty grey.
My breakfast at the bagel shop’s completed for the day.

I choose a crater on the moon
In which to take a seat.

The darkened stars, the mute guitars,
My art is now complete.