It’s hard
to find 
shade beneath 
a tree
in winter 
for limbs
cover only 
a bit 
and to
miss leaves
means missing 
the summer 
so sun
I accept 
even if
less warm 

I’d much 
rather be 
the me
that I
am than
the me
that I 
was for 
that me
was the 
you me
and this 
me is
little more 
than I

I have 
a hole 
where whole 
used to 
be and
now standing 
on the 
lip of
this crater 
I wonder 
if I’ll
ever get 
to the 
other side 

Early day whispers 
like a mistress 
into nights ear
don’t go yet
you and I
haven’t yet talked 
and night turns
looking back east
saying no but 
the west calls 
day is here 

Nothing’s wrong 
seldom is
but I 
retired from 
the wars
often wonder
if this 
now’s better 
nothing to 
do nowhere 
to go 
just this
and this 
then this