Standing amidst fields
Of wheat I
Hear the delicate
Sound of wind
Pushing the kernels
Together like my
Mother’s brush on
Linoleum floors in
Other people’s homes
Standing here free
From those days
So long ago
This sound sings
Now to me
Degrees of simple
Silence a place
Of quiet forgiveness
For her many
Years of sadness
There is one
Thing that every
Living thing does
At least once
And it’s not
The thing that
You’re thinking now
But perhaps it’s
The thing that
You’re doing now
It’s this smile
All I can
Promise you my
Young friend is
Nothing more than
Me to simply
Be your shadow
Even at night
Just close your
Eyes and I’m
Right with you
Have no fear
Because I’m here
This morning’s sky
Has cleared like
That upturned look
And sweet slight
Smile through tears
After we knew
We must part
As we sat
Sitting and breaking
And saying nothing
Because post truth
Nothing else is
Really ever heard
At least not
In the same
Way as before
The sky is
A work in-progress
Blue canvas spattered
Gray chaotic and
Lacking the definition
Of anything finished
It’s a torrent
Of cloudy rumors
Swirling about uncertain
Of its truth
Hazy like Pittsburgh
When steel mills
Billowed noxious smoke
Covering everything everyone
In light soot
Oh these mornings
Make everything turn
Away roll over
Trying to forget
That this day
Ever really started
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 