A man sits on a wooden bench
unable to know home
and with all of his knowledge
He is dead
He sits alone
The bench, surrounded by forest-
Listens for him
as the wind rushes along the tops of the trees
while the man rests his palms on his knees-
His dried knuckles have cracked and wrinkled
for the man lived lived and lived-
They had begun on the coast
wearing large smiles
eventually finding this forest
where a bench begged to be built
along the edge of a soon to be
orchard
She had picked their bench
a nicely fallen oak
and asked for it to point
here, toward the slope,
where they could sit hand in hand
and listen to the wind
as it passed along the tops of the trees
bringing sounds of the ocean again
Now she was gone
and he sits all alone
looking at the forest
knowing he’d never
be home
mtaggartwriter 