I had written a poem. It took a long time. And it never took form, never got real. Just a word or two of truth and then some junk. I asked him once. I said, how do you know when to write a poem. He said when you don’t want to use any commas.

January 1, 2024
Soon there will be no one left to forgive me
Your voice tumbling out violets
grown wild in streams where fish jumped
You were never tomorrow
The moon glinted moving the peace
so I wouldn’t stumble

The rounds made your laughter mean
Sunlight kill ing behind the trees
when I couldn’t see you move the branches back
Too loud too late…limb and leaf
blinded by boots slick from remembering
one last line missing

Where your smile was as bright as the sun light where the fish jumped.