December 20, 2015 § Leave a comment

the way the frost looks

on the petals of the strongest 

holdout in the garden
reminds me of the color 

of eyes in a photo 

taken around this time of year

some years ago
I bump the thermostat up

a click and wonder if it’s 

cold where you are
as a sadness creeps up behind me

to slip a thought into my mind

of you standing somewhere

I’ve never been
with your hand held out

for someone 

defining the finite

with a confidence only the

blessed could attain
I never could figure out

the art of focus 

always wanted to see everything 

at once

though my aperture never

opened quite wide enough for

all of that
so I saw what I could 

and see what I can

and attempt to retain 

as much as possible 
should the opportunity 

ever come up for us

to trade tales of 

separate existence 
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 


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