Jul 5, 2021

Tomorrow is a whisper and today is sweat.

110 degrees. August. The valley bakes 

Like a loaf of bread in a brick oven. 

Tomorrow is a whisper and today is sweat. 

Standing under a harsh sun, 

I say my name aloud 

To remind the valley of who I am,

And who I am not.


Geese overhead,

You can hear them talking as they pass. 

The season is passing, too.

And here below, on Earth, 

We go on loving, living, being. 

But sorrow, too.

Yes, of course, sorrow, too.

It’s been years now 

Since my young son left this Earth.


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