After all all
of this about 
is little more 
than good bye 
I wonder now 
when it started 
this good bye
because we know 
they are long
drawn out things 
like funeral processions 

My door is 
always open my 
lights always on
all are welcome 
for a while 
or maybe longer 
I won’t call 
come hither or
bid adieu that’s 
up to you 

The beauty 
of youth
is believing 
that you 
are immortal 
and the 
beauty of 
age is 
understanding that 
you’re not 

It’s just 
a cloud 
and like 
most clouds 
that come
they go
clouds are
very little 
more than 
sighs pauses
and hiccups 
on a 
sunny day 

There doesn’t seem 
to be the 
hurry when one 
is contentedly alone 
like the fire
that burns slowly 
in the pit 
rather than the 
ravaging wildfire emboldened 
to get somewhere