Postcard Home

Hi, angel...
Hope this finds you well.

Me? I’m doing OK....
finally getting my head
around things.

Sitting here
looking out
across the bay...

a sprinkling
of lights
of the restless

and of old soldiers
who have seen too much
to sleep...

storm petrels
flying at dusk...black
confetti fretting
the skyline.

In front of the fire
a dog sleeps...grey
like the birds

like the sky
emptied –
bereft of words.

A poem
in the making,
perhaps?

Not wanting
to be written;
not right now.

No sweat;
for I am
a patient lover.