his hair is growing back in
around the incision
on the side of his head
sitting around the table
in the shade
over-arching trees surrounding
he is tired and doses
drifting off
his presence a truth
like the breeze
or the sun mottled through leafy
roof
or the pine
needles underfoot
and we taste this truth
for what it is
hands gripped in true and rooted friendship
This poem touches my heart with aching love. Thank you, Waldy. You are a true friend.
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