A jet sparks the sky
with movement and noise that
strives to catch up.
My wife, drunk, is humming
In her snoring.
And a grandson is in bed,
with mommy far away
In mind and intention.
The sky is still light grey
as the day slowly retreats.
Listening to Marsden
as I do so often
sitting on this deck.
As Mosquitos come to greet me,
to eat me,
this silent supplicant:
this seeker of what
can never be answered;
for the answer
is being
here.
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