Wrightings

Looking out the RV window watching bear  In the quiet of the northern summer night  where there is too much light to sleep and  we imagine there’s no place like home It’s been a year since your fall down a muddy bank at low tide the channel was rank; rotting seaweed and fish like the toilet in the corner of the garage conversations in my head leave me wondering about heaven and hell “we need butter” he said, “there’s some  in the freezer” the response. I glance out the window, feel a twinge caused by  an earring I took it off her writing desk.  she’d often slip them off and rub gently. In my dreams, I saved her maroon lobes