God
if you’re there
save me
from all these
old songs
and the pictures
in my head
on this
another holiday
so very far
from home

the candle flickering
the shadows
on the wall
tonight
bring back a memory
of you dancing
in candlelight
in that house
in Cleveland
the dog curled up
on the shag rug
asleep
the only witness
me
not so drunk
not to know
that life
would never be
any better
than this
you dancing
in candlelight
for me

when the phone calls
stop
and you’re alone
in the darkness
what voices
do you hear
what faces
float by
in memory
to comfort
to haunt
then

didn’t quite catch
your words
that night
as you woke me
from my slumber
on the couch
the record still turning
on the turntable
the dog looking up
as I struggled
to my feet
my mind a haze
your words lost
like water
slipping through my fingers
like you
fading gradually
into the night
those words
still nagging
my memory
decades later
ten thousand miles
away

there you stand
bent over slightly
your hands
on the dog’s neck
you both looking
at me
camera in hand
taking this picture
which now sits
on a bookshelf
in my den
a stick lying
at the dog’s paws
that I
most likely
use for play
with him
both of you gone
relegated to a memory
of a time
when we were young
and not yet wise
to how it would
eventually end
he to ashes
in an urn
on my desk
and you
lost to time
and old pictures
and me
with this ache
in my heart
still

the lie
that one tells oneself
that whiskey
helps one forget
is never so clear
to me
as it is
tonight

the past
traced in thought
and etched
as in stone
in our minds
impossible to forget
yet painful at times
to remember
as we fumble forward
ever again