Ghosts.

Sometimes I wonder . If I pass this world suddenly , how much I would like you to see my gardens. The one in the front, I am so proud of it. People slow down on my street to look at the one in front. It is a legacy to my effort and my desire to nurture , even if I am sometimes a terrible ogre. That  beautiful garden , I feel is evidence that I am a good man. I have a pair of dragonflies this year, and a hummingbird who feels like magic to witness, a frog migrated in and ate a bunch of my fish in my pond, and I have several beautiful little snakes.

I wish friendship had worked . My connections In this world are few and fleeting it seems a terrible shame , if things were different, I would show you The garden then.  

As silly as it may seem, I still want you to be proud of my accomplishments.

The electric.

It still courses and vibrates through me. 

I receive praise and kind words  for standing up for what I believe in, but it never feels good to have my blood go electric. 

It feels like a canoe on a river of anger, and only by great care so I keep the river from swallowing me.

It's a gamble, and I can't lose.

Gotta stay afloat.

The wound

The wound is open most of the time, weeping and unnoticed, until I can see her. When I see her my wound closes , on burrowed time it does not heal. 

She leaves soon, to return to Texas.

Texas , Illinois , California , it doesn't matter.   

The sutures are starting to rip.

And it fucking hurts brand new.

Goddamn it.