On the way to Sacramento, not a free night in Newark

for Bruce Geduldig and Bernadette Martou

The day comes and it’s dull and grey, a benevolent blanket
of wretched uncertainty and promise, and yet again
ethereal rendered cosmic, boxes and bags and potlatch aplenty
all that could have been, all that is yet to be.

Today comes and the hug hurts, unable
to contain all gratitude
A rushed expression of all that burned, slow
and now glows, as time ran out

Tonight we sleep in Motherships
Swayed by clouds and future adventures
A Sun, persistent, beyond its due
And the hearts we touched, the hearts we will.

 

bh

 

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