the rain eased up
the cold persisted

holiday evenings
and not enough chairs

hey so when are you…?
a battery of questions

some blunted by the years
some softer, owing

to wisdom, knowing
what not knowing

for years means
a bridge washed out

a road not finished
even yes can mean no

when prized
out like a stuck door

unburdened by solace
by desire

it isn’t speakable
so just smile

too widely
turn one’s attention

to the fire
that is dying

all heartwood
no kindling

it’s filling the room
with smoke