Victoria Twomey

these days,
the old man looks for a long while and with greater trespass
into evening’s eyes
as if there were something he might wade out to
these days,
when he sinks into dreams
he sails an indigo ocean with his departed wife
gone so young, so soon
their world is lit by brilliant moonlight
she smiles and her hands are warm
like they always were
now her words sound like hummingbird wings
and her eyes are filled with galaxies
these days,
he confides more in his long gone father
senses something in the shadows
waiting patiently for recognition


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