for Helen, the High Definition brunette momma among us
there are tracks in your arm ready visible to all those with a personal microscope if one optically examines the empty spaces tween your poem-words....
the exterior all smiles, whooping it up, children, all smiles, tumbling, breaking things, ceilings collapsing, winters arriving, as is the way of the kids and nature, inexorable, occasionally breaking you to smile too
Abut to all this is the contentiousness, the aboriginal sense of loss for what once was, plain out in in the secret messages sent and you know you own my all unuttered utter devotion
we need no qualification of what we are
we are friends, not drinking buddies, the straight out semi-secret fans of each other
thousands of miles apart of simple purity borne, you warm me with endless jokes and familial tales
and I thank you for sharing, for trusting, me with that troubling notion that I am missing a sorrowful deepening that is after a wellness examination
hardly hidden**
but t'is heard around the world, gunshot to my heart, come to me when ever is understood that this paean ~ pain ~ poem is a simple wayfarer's way of declaring forever
I know you are sleeping now, but whenΒ Β the fall sun breaks, here is hoping me that you break into private tears in private places like the ones decorating me, celebrating the best of what humans can be