morning comes
after night
bit
by bit
memory
after memory
departs
other writing
a lesson my father taught me
sometimes
the very thing
we wish
to avoid
is the very thing
we need
to confront
words dissolve
words spoken
left out
in the rain
of tears
dissolve
listening to The Drifters
let the music
play
in my arms
a dream
a sigh
three minutes
forty seconds
of a life
that could have
been
almost gone
letters brittle
with age
photographs
in an album
the last links
to people
events
almost gone
from memory
on fishing
drop a line
and wait
patience
persistence
luck
bring home
the fish
of your dreams
unrequited: after an old Ray Charles song
unable to say
what is in
the heart
for words
spoken
may chase
away
the object
of affection
images float
images float
nightly
in around
the air
of you
always you
my unspoken
love
waiting on a new day, in Maltete, Saturday morning, July 25, 2015
the book
finished
the glass
empty
the night
passing
into morning
here
waiting
a new day
half completed sentences
half completed
sentences
all that is left
of my love
Leonard Durso 