Thursday, May 22, 2008


Gray haired volunteer of kindness, leaning in welcome, meeting his eye with warmth. In a voice thick with years of tar and maybe gravel you said, "You must be Clam." But my son's name is Clay.

1 comment:

Stu said...

I have to say that, while I feel bad about the time these get posted (showing me that you're still not sleeping well), I find these posts to be wonderful, very much like Haiku, of which I'm a big fan. And yours read as poems read, very delicate and full of depth.