His bones dressed anew

God only knows what wilderness he sees in that half sleep. rolling his tongue for spit and croaking ape memories.

I don't know if he can see me, but i wouldn't be surprised if he did. this tattoo struck a nerve. these fingers made a mark on his house with their old soft polish and he never did think i should wear my hair like this.

But isn't that my optimism?

My vanity. my human need for one last moment before the curtain call to look out into the audience and know someone in the darkness was applauding through the din just fucking for me?

I know he was there.

At least, i believe it.

Not as the man i knew. not as the soldier. the father. the genius. the old man who always could no matter what or when or how so long as there was wit and reason enough.

But something entirely different. singularly beautiful. disarmed and alarming as skinny bones can be but still married to the strength of virginia.

Sitting beside me. talking. quietly. constant. she could see him here because this was not the home that they had shared. this wasn't their dream.

This was his and his alone.

One last letter from the war.

Scratched with the last strength of his good hand and in the blue light of summer blinds before the quell of a storm where strange twilight casts us all in amber and he understands that this is not his good fight.

But his time.

You Punch Me, I Punch You.mp3