One day,

on a long trip to Okuma’s white sands,

I ran out of useless tales

trying to read the signs,

I told him about missing you.

 

He hooted

in a fake way,

a grinning, nodding, write a book way,

and I hurt

starting all over.

 

somehow,

keeping it inside

is the storm on the horizon

never spending it’s lightning.

 

Dave Barber

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