On the last leg of the trip when I
relax into it, the moon follows,
new memories follow, in a passing
field two deer – here and gone,
swept aside. We are tossed side to
side, hurled at the future, a painting
of a dream. Oh, Samuel, my love, you
sleep like a crumpled paper bag.
I look out the window watching
yesterdays grow tassels in the fields.
I paint, splashed onto the night scene
in DC, dripping upscale. Shifting in my
train seat, I am a bag of goodies for
my grandchildren, a fine showing at a
new gallery and all the past that wanted
today – to be known, to be unleashed.