A salty stranger to some.
But I know where you came from…
why you have come.
Posed at the edge of the rumpled bed.
Gesturing to words not said.
Alluding to the mistakes that need to be fed.
As if on cue.
A far off face in my morning meditation.
As always, my aches justification.
Well trained, I wait for you full knowing the ramifications.
You are not new.
You walk with the same purpose as I do.
Somehow you are fresh like February snow in the night.
Old and tiring,
a withering ash that falls out of the fold.
The same as a wind that has grown bold.
I have the same question,
as I always do.
‘Where are you when the pain is new?’