Nelson
I believe you will slip away from us
when no one is looking,
hungry world, unfinished children,
one night like any other.
No fist rants the door,
no flash of light
no bars left on windows;
unnoticed, the idea of time
removes itself
like a mouse,
after finishing the last speck
of the last crumb of bread,
without turning
or needing a thing
tiny feet
hurry away.
We never know
where your eyes will open next.
Once slipped
from antiqued pages
the note falls,
yet the book of your body
does not miss the words
of your life.
Nelson before you go
tell me a story.
Please don't say a word.
Let me sit in the chair by the bed
the room filling with lightning bugs, moths,
an old eagle.
The rattler’s tail shivers
and drums in the distance.
You let go of us
as your breath seems to be something we need
more than you do.
You stand with the sheet around your shadow
burned by a soft light
as with all good ghosts
gone while the getting is good.
by T.L. Stokes
c2013 T.L. Stokes (all rights reserved)
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