Two years have passed

 

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I sit at the same spot

at the kitchen table.

 

 

Spring has turned to Summer

Summer to Autumn

Autumn to Winter

 

And round again

And the world has changed

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There is more grey in my beard

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Still, I feel the weight of my arms resting on the table,

Still, I hear the sounds of the house around me

water in the pipes,

the click of the heater as it rotates

 

It is cold outside and wet

 

 

 

 

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There have been moments of sadness, of solitude, of loss

 

 

 

 

 

The old man no longer passes my house

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But we are still listening to each other

You are still here

 

 

 

Welcome

 

 

 

Let’s breath together

again

 

 

for a while

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My fingers hover over keys

I pause

 

 

 

 

Which doors to open

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The paths remain

Even when we don’t tread them as frequently

 

 

 

...a passed

 

   age,

     a passage

 

                 of air

 

Like the illumination of a tunnel’s walls

As the breath makes its way 

along the trachea

 

Into bifurcating pathways

Bronchi and alveoli

The branches and leaves of the lungs

 

The rise of the ribcage

The wait

the weight of bones

surrendering to gravity

 

this tide

this wash erases

the marks made

assuredly

a sure eddy of cascading

rivulets

descending, cleansing

 

the shore

 

          and the uncertain

 

                     falling

                         away to leave

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lightness

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a sparkling shell bright in the sunlight.

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