(May 15, 2018)

She is walking through O’Hare
Concourse B (older than my mother
was (than I am) now (on edge (her
eyes are otherwise like mine) we are
awake and then gone (simply put)
the hours come at us (like lines
unchanged) with promise (crossing
O’Hare Concourse B) she passes and
(I am) like she is (not much to hold
anymore) just the sometimes wetness
of after rain (the pressure behind the
eyes as the lines that pull onward
(my knowing (& the years to come)
we are (simply put) the echo of depth
soundings & long branches (a
handful of them ready for kindling)
the absence of brush is as noticeable
as what comes for us (for me) in the
over lightness of O’Hare Concourse
B) I (now) able & muscular (the two
of us for a moment share the lines to
come) that I watch her (watch me)
grow thin ice around the trellises
stems up to the dew point
(diminishing & done