Friend,
I dreamt of you last night,
We are walking on a boardwalk,
The night ski is just peaking over the horizon,
Your mouth is moving to words that I can’t understand
Or perhaps I have chosen not to hear?
Strange garbled sounds emit from your lips
And I am trying to make sense of it all,
Friend,
These days stretch across a Parish sunset,
The kind that you wish for summer to arrive,
Yet these days come too soon,
You tell us that Death has visited your doorstep again
And you are refusing to answer it,
I tell you that
Garland of garlic and silver crosses nailed across the A frame will only anger Death
Not because this trickery will work but because mixing
Superstitions in hopes to keep Death at bay
is a little like
hitting the fast foward button on the VCR,
I am telling you,
There is no accurate outcome for life’s events
No display reading to ensure proper functions,
As I am telling you this,
I suspect you already know because you
smile and shrug your shoulders,
Perhaps it is I that am need of reassurance,
Always throw in an extra spoonful of salt
to rub in wounds,
Not to savor the pain,
but to rejoice in the healing.
