Loneliness, too, I do not mind--
Really, he hardly bothers me as we sit
like strangers having tea with a candle lit.
I hold his fingers cold and blind.

With him and a rope of rosary beads,
I've captured and counted more nights than most
and hunted the stars with this roving ghost.
We lose our way in the morning weeds.

06/30/2007

Posted on 07/01/2007
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