June

My June is here  because it was her October
Immediately preceding,with wind in the trees.
It was one  madam  Gluck who did the talking.
I hear her voice in the trees as  night dilutes
To a wind without  water from the seas below,
Avernus to a  king's empire of a humbled head
A dwarf  God had trampled down into the earth.

My letters are soft by the hour like her sounds
As the wind in the trees slowly rises to a death
To a not being there that does not matter to life
And the living as the wind rises against the bird.
It always happens when a wind  rises to death,
A vapor  that is a wind in the trees, a dead poet.

(Remembering  Averno by Louise Gluck)