dennis

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dennis

now you’re in my dreams

I can’t ask how’s
your family

you don’t know

can’t ask
how you’ve been

you haven’t – been

not in any way
I can know

but there you are

in that place

I have no control
the way you were

I can’t tell you
you haven’t changed

can’t see you
that final day

can’t know the fear
your agony

how it felt
what it means

to die

can’t ask about
the thirty years
we missed

or the last ten
that will never be

for you

maybe

I’ll see you
in my dreams

I’ll ask

how you’ve been

Memory at Eighty Four

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Memory at Eighty Four

Sit and read the morning paper, coffee steaming in the cup. That’s not good, California’s in a draught. That little boy is still missing.

Hello, who are you?

I’m your nurse.

Where’s my wife?

She’s gone, today one month.

I love her. I miss her.

reset

Sit and read the morning paper, coffee steaming in the cup. That’s not good, California’s in a draught. That little boy is still missing.

Hello, who are you?

I’m your nurse.

Where’s my wife?

She’s gone, today one month.

I love her. I miss her.

reset