Last night I couldn’t sleep, so
I just laid in bed and listened
to you again, Frank.
Your voice shook
the way we hiked Old Rag
through last spring’s quiet warmth.
You know how difficult
tenderness is, Frank.
That’s what I love about you.
How much steel it takes
to let the world be what it is, Frank.
Your arms cradling nothing but a memory.
Nothing but a couple chords
and all the summers I could ever see.
- More
