The hang of haze over the horizon to our home brandied the sky. Then it
was a bitten blue. Up the hill those last minutes always, the car lunged
with hope. Bare or thinly leaved trees stretched like cats into the skies.
Baltimore snow frothed in the nearby pools. Few footprints but ours and
the dogís brailled the fields.
think of you gone now, without the proper rituals, all things left undone!
Didnít finish the shopping; that I loved: the boxes in the cart, the monthís
staples and delicacies. The reservations at the corner restaurant not
made; legs under the table not tickled. The sad sheets of dust fallen,
no hand with enough strength to clear them. The voice mail a rattle box
of unheard, eliminating messages.