The Shadow of Things Missing

The Shadow of Things Missing

We were like saddle bums

Horses hobbled

And our fire gazing back at us

Its crackling more like

The disapproval of old women

With clacking tongues.

We told each other

The same old stories

We’d rehearsed for years.

We politely laughed

Or grunted

At all the appropriate places.

We shared more than old tales.

We exposed our unhealed wounds

And the pain lifting from us

Like sparks rising relentlessly

Toward distant stars. 

We measured the

Shadows of things missing

For twenty

Thirty

Forty

Fifty years.

He told me about spinning

Helicopter blades

And I of shattering

Shards of glass

And midnight explosions.

Our fire has gone cold

The horses moved

To distant pastures.

We have both unburdened ourselves

Of softened butterscotch saddles.

Now, we tell our stories

To bare walls

And naked light bulbs.

We have learned

That without ears to hear

Tongues and lips

Are better mute.