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Poem: Obscure Melancholy

I often think to a Christmas long ago
Sitting at the adult table with a runner of gold
Two glasses in and reclined in my chair
Listening to voices that soon wouldn’t be there
The deep hold of etherness seizing me
That some Christmas will be the last Christmas

Poem: Idle Days on the Patuxent

The rain in Seattle makes me miss the east coast
With summers so hot you melt outside
Those brutal days are worth the warm nights
Where we would drink beer on the hood of your car
Watching the tide roll in lapping at the sand
As we skipped rocks shattering the stars