like a dream he said

he was fourteen maybe

the snow was drifting

about a foot or so

the cold was slowing him down

where he was

had been

was never quite clear

everything stopped

went slo-mo

& he stopped dead in his tracks

looked around

did not know which way to go

I could feel my mind going numb

as he told  this tale

he was letting me know

this was metaphor for his life

as he drifted in & out of view

here one day staying a month

then gone for a couple of years

& when he died

I went to his funeral

to say goodbye old friend

meeting people who too

never knew him deep

having different names

for this one man

caught in a drift

never knowing

where to go

call home


for Tim, Ted, Tod, Tug

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