somehow I know it's you...
the forlorn call 
of a killdeer
on the lonely side 
of sunset

remembering 

our conversation

about drug addiction

the greatest tragedy

is your own self-loathing

logging thousands of miles

without connections to cyberspace

the monarch butterflies 

know the beauty 

and power

of silence

poor penmanship
by eighth grade
the nuns were done
correcting the angle
of my misshapen letters

2nd time around 
the prayer labyrinth
I find comfort
in every repetition 
of the chickadee's song

another argument
about global warming
where the river 
once flooded
the mud turns into dust

now showing 'stan and ollie'

the slapstick routine

starts with a popcorn slide

and ends with a loud fall 

into my seat in the dark

24 hours of people
stranded at the airport
we've finally run out of stories
about where we've been
and where we're going