Longings and Gratitudes
       

I notice it sometimes
when I pack to leave
and there's no toothbrush
widowed in the stand,
content to save my place,
and no reason to call home
or hurry to the taxi line.

It's nothing new.
Just the witnessing of sunsets
and the phases of the moon,
the journaled lists and supplications,
the rolling tide of March to April, May to June,
the wide expanse of days and nights,
crossed and dotted dreams, desires,
longings and gratitudes
captured quietly by candlelight,
documented page by page
and book by book.

I see the diaries filling up
the shelves and boxes in my room,
the only record of my progress
left to share.

In the silence before sleep
I check my faith in certain prayers,
remembering what I've kept
and what I gave away.
The stories I've been telling wander in and out
of photographs and souvenirs,
reflecting light or cooling in the shadows,
and I notice myself noticing,
wondering if the time will come to tell—
and who would like to hear.

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Copyright © 2012 Dan Stone All rights reserved
from Tricky Serum
Lethe Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission