standing at the desk….no information
at his house……..nobody home
outside the door……only spirit present
first aid station……..the third degree
sitting on an old wooden chair--wobbly
pouring another glass or clear forgetfulness
spilling some on the old table
that’s seen card games, board games, head games
and ten thousand sunsets through the window
warm humid evenings with fireflies all around
and cold indifferent suns on January nights
with snow draping the big evergreen in the backyard
and some kind of animal tracks in the snow
a cold lonesome breeze blowing off the frozen lake
fried potatoes in the pan and a couple of eggs in another
so many chapters in our lives that nobody has read or maybe will read
words, words, words, words that don’t even come close
to describing how we really felt and what we carried with us
