for me just this once
and allow a small ceasing to be
as I sit ghost-like in the wet night
surrounded by the spider web shadows of trees
etched like ink, and still against the sky.
you arent invited to these moments
that come without inviting me
when upon my quiet return
from a walk on rain-glazed streets
I sit, a dark drink in hand
that I sometimes swirl before I sip.
did you call while I was gone?
Im sure the journey was worth my absence,
however brief and sudden.
I could have said I would be out
(pardon my not letting you know)
but you know the difference between fear and dread
and tonight the streets were worth it.
I only wish I felt more tired
it seems wrong not to feel fatigued after a walk,
dont you think?
perhaps next time I will suffer
the tiredness that could erase this preface
and keep within the hush
that only now I feel rising
to grasp my arm like the clinging night
and cause me to shiver.
W. King lives in Columbia, Tennessee. He is a retired social
studies and reading teacher of 35 years. "During those busy
years of teaching, I continued to dabble in writing when I could.
Now that I am retired, I am able to devote more time and be more
serious with what has always been an interest and desire,"
King says. He enjoys writing poetry and short stories, and currently,
he is in the middle of a book writing project.
Jerry W. King