Poem: Supply and demand

echoes from ancient
—or so it feels—
recordings

my voice, my noise, my words:
in my absence
these still reverberate
still sought out
—by a few—
but still more than zero

I am shocked
flattered
confused
and even a little
grateful
to be remembered
and missed
even if only as my shadow

and I wonder
what colors do people see
when they listen to my old songs?
echoes in the void of space
—inner and outer—
like a trail of perfume
lingering long past my leaving