A cloudy evening is so still the time of year, so steady and breathless. The gloaming settles in heavy, with a chill in the air and no hint of movement. The forsythia has yet to bloom, the leaves in the trees and the grassy fields are still far more brown than green. What seems like limbo will soon shake loose and come alive, and maybe it's you I'm talking to, in these whispers to myself...

THE THIN MAN

they built a cell phone tower
just down the road
to remind us that we're really not all alone
but I'm not convinced
that it isn't a trick
from crowded minds
trying to make sense
of the everpresent empty next
I'm making neighbors of strangers
trying to prove them all wrong
that to sing a song
you need to know the words
but I believe to my soul
it's effort enough just to mimic a bird
is there no honor in failure anymore?
can't we fight the battle and lose the war?
can't we start out rich and end up poor?
without mourning what we spent at the store
I've been sleeping like a log
waking up in a fog
and going through the day that way
I've got a white flag on my pillow case
looking for a race so I can let you win
because losing is a virtue
not a mortal sin
if it matters to you
you can steal my food
either way,
I'll always be thin

...

April 12, 2017
St. Croix Cove, Nova Scotia

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