The evening falls dream slowly over the neighbourhood like
\na fleece blanket lofted by a mother over her feverish child.
\nWe sit, inhaling clatter of far off street traffic
\nthrough banks of tall maples crowding the edges of the back yard.
\nYou wait for me to say more:
\nI am blank, hoping for declaration of some other catastrophe
\nto interrupt.
\nIt is my turn to shrug, grasp at some hook in the sky,
\nsome saving inspiration.
\nYou stir the empty place on your plate with your fork’s tines.
\nSomebody a few yards over clears his throat.
\nA door opens, briefly spewing somebody’s private caramba!
\nA siren leaves the nearby firehall, tears down the street, fades.
\nI dig into my brain realizing that silence
\nis not the response I want to make:
\nit argues too much in your voice,
\ndrowning all I could say.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The evening falls dream slowly over the neighbourhood like a fleece blanket lofted by a mother over her feverish child. We sit, inhaling clatter of far off street traffic through banks of tall maples crowding the edges of the back … Continue reading