( For A. P.)
What now do all the numbers say, the so- called values doctors judge our bodies by— our bodies, not the life we used to know, the easy years when each day seemed to fly? What do the numbers say about my mate, the coffee-sweetened morning air we’ve known the many years we’ve been each other’s fate, discovering in love we shared the home we didn’t dare to dream about? What were the odds, since so much was a storm of loss, so what I knew was pain, what pain conferred, that everything meant nothing but its cost? I’m waiting in the waiting room again. The ocean pounding sand will never end.
Amarillo Bay 