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I always knew this day would come;
that the pack of carrion, ever advancing, would stop,
double–back and tear into your back.

Your hands,
they swallowed mine, like sand against a mountain.
I thought that if I had more time I could wear you down
and yet — time is an ever furtive lover.

My garment—torn, hangs upon me as gossamer wind, its warmth as winter.

– wide paned windows, laughter in the deep, Ford Theater’s most famous stainer, McBean and Glen — are all among my friends.

— these are the memories of my childhood, the gifts you gave me; my treasure from your large open hands.

thank you for these jewels — treasure that time nor thief can touch.

 — a poem written upon my father’s death

© 2017 rl busséll

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Us

This entry was posted in poetry.

3 comments on “An ever furtive lover

  1. Shauna Suarez-Boaz says:

    Roger, what a beautiful poem. I can see your Dad’s large, strong, and worn hands wanting to hug you one last time. He just wanted to see his boys once more. Now he can see all of you & can lift you up when you call him. My heart is broken, but blessed
    because of his gentle and enduring love. Bless him for that.

    Like

    1. rlbussell says:

      It has been especially hard today. Thank you for your kind words. They mean so much.

      Like

  2. Allen R. Bussell says:

    Very good. Thank you for sharing

    Allen (Sent from my 📱)

    >

    Like

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