any thing, really.

we forget what it means: lingering under the lamplight, anxious to get home,
holding hands as cold and limp as a freshly caught bullfrog.
saying words like, "oh, remember when?" & "why can`t it be like that?"
well, i am sorry if I had encouraged you to feel any less beautiful, or handsome, or creative, or worthy.
some things ought to be said about that.

f,m,t,w,th,f

i think i have forgotten what it feels like to be little.
shoot.

C-Minor

"We're not half as bad as God is good."

Fridays are the worst

for reminding me that I am not as close as I ought to be.
when the chilly air creates water unbearable,
&all the dogs are begging for daily walkings.
I miss, i Miss, I Miss...
hiding in the pantry, eating tortilla chips,
chasing ducks in the yard,
&being 1 of 5.
i know it`s a stretch to feel joy [the same way every time?]
I know, i Know, I Know...
but, you see, I haven`t been home in so many years!

so this is the true story:
one Thanksgiving all seven of us
ate dinner at a Waffle House
&spent the rest of our vacation in a cabin in the Alabaman woods.

the end.

indeed, there will be time

for many visions &revisions.
366, at least.