it’s like the sand of life leaks
out from a hole in the sack
scattered then stomped
into the surface
but nothing gets lighter
the gravity of absence
crushes out the colors and
somehow grey weighs more
the shadows know things
they are not telling
now I see through a glass
darkly yes darkly
it’s like death has an echo
that bounces off shadows
reverberates in emptiness
and makes love hurt
it’s like that
Peace,
Milton
Milton, are you all right? I worry about your talk of darkness. Are you and Ginger both in a downward spiral now? You’re in my prayers–reach out for help if you need it!
Bob Farlee