Who are you who comes to these pages unbidden
Across the years?
To count my syllables,
To think my thoughts renewed and strange,
Like a reflection from a pond,
A cool lake stilled in the waning moments of twilight.  

I suppose you loved me and I loved you
But it is different now.  

I think of the love letters my parents wrote to each other.
I read them after,
Found in a Bible on the bedside table.
Their words were sweet and youthful,
Kind and naïve.
People I had never known but had known
My whole life.  

And here we are.  

I hope you are well.
I loved you and prayed for your joy every day.
I worked (too much) and dreamt of a time
To myself
To play guitar,
To write songs,
To read books,
And know my body and mind
Through the clarity of physical effort.  

It is good to be here with you
While I write in solitude
On this cold day in the new year.