I awake, brew and pour coffee. Corn bread is baking; a tequila sunrise calls. Good music; words for a poem dance in my head. Plans with good friends, dinner, a movie. A warm home while others do without. Yesterday there was ice on the ground. A man in rags, babbling to himself walked past my car; I would babble, too. What is missing; not hope, nor dreams, but who am I to talk of love? A therapist said, ”You missed the boat.” I read it in an old journal, in black and white. To sleep, perchance to dream. I do.
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