Another poem (or what’s this writing coming to?)

May 2, 2007

In this dream

in memory of David Citino, poet, mentor and friend

You can be alive and
not and all the while

be pleased and smile
at me in the car.

Seems odd I can’t recall
your words, yours of anyone’s

I should remember, yet
silence was just right then,

the air between us
ripe and sweet and full

of a father’s secret pride
in me (and why, I wish

I knew), but your gift —
a triple rosary

so very un-Catholic —
more a garland really,

of wooden flowers,
bestowed on me,

and as I dip my head
toward the driver’s side,

you place them around
my neck like a blessing.

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