you have been
the ice that melts my bourbon
my own ghost
that circles december nights
yes
that snowy host
with nowhere to go
like the tarnish of time
i am weathered
a darker shade
when the sky is grey
and the fencepost to tomorrow
is covered with you
slowly surrendering
i pour another
and a kind of stillness subsides
as the wet footprints
come in from the cold





A great write! Best wishes!














Sighhh...Mine, too. Good luck in Timothy's contest, Scribe. This one aches profoundly, my dear Friend. 






68 old applause
