by Gene Branaman
2 months since we last heard.
the rain's been keeping down the dust
on your letter, currently residing on
the sideboard in the foyer
so I'll pass it upon my
coming & going
you'd mentioned the blooming
sage & Spanish lavender &
how you wanted always to
be inhaling to hold the
memory of your travels
in its perfume
of the places you relate
I can only dream in
pastels & pixilated
views from an online tour
in soft focus like the eyes
of an ecstatic saint,
the glimpsed Beatific
Vision receding gently
Spring now, so soon!
you won't return before Autumn's chill
sends the leaves on journeys
blushing with their impatience
at your extended absence.
but I am content to harmonize with
your voice when I press play . . .
eyes closed, waiting.
Good Friday 2004
