This friend and I
we were at my picnic table
and it's hot...in these lazy days of summer
talkin' our philosophy

I can still here his voice
soft and ****
as I throw my head back and laugh
feeling kind of shy
.....and wondering why

He's a whole lot more
like opening a door
more than you let me believe
and ....
more than I would have guessed
He's a poet
I didn't know it...

As the truth spilled out of our lives
like a tablecloth
A red and white checkered one
...so wonderfully familiar
as he puffed.. a sweet smelling cigar
and the yearning of his youth
and a vision of our truth

I tried to find him...he was gone

As I sat in my rocking chair writing this down....
I looked around
...and he stood in the door
wanting more..

I wondered how?
Is he here now?

I was ...nervous...
excited...
as his soft ...gray and blue ...
doe eyes...saw me
again

And I hope
....he comes back tomorrow.


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