What next it might be asked If projects filled my mind, But I put one metaphorical foot Before the next and felt my way, Easing the kinks and cramps. Susan's hands spasmodically grip My arms. I kneaded them, Wringing them loose, Filling her tub with water hot Enough to ease her through Another evening. I steal away But keep my cell phone near In case she needs some later help Which is to say this isn't Of my construction. Off to the side I remember what I wanted, All the tools, the usages, Whims and Middle English cant; So much back then was rant, More force than inspiration. I now render dreams of ardent Rushing down streets Filled with people I never know Frantically searching for a dog Separated as we slept, Dead until I dreamed Her back to life or nearly so, Searching until I wake. --- This email has been checked for viruses by Avast antivirus software. http://www.avast.com