7.25.2017 [calling]

a memory itches at my mind
pulls, calls, reaches out.
a young man,
sitting beside a pond
an edge of green
trees moving out
ahead to a point.

and to his right a bay less
traveled where a
younger boy will call for
his father
because a large old bass
has taken his simple bobber
and string hook and is tugging
him out into the deep.

the young man is looking.
across to the empty shore
where tubercular
patients of times past
waited in their
sanitarium barracks
for the fresh airs to
cure their despair.

the boy’s reflection,
attentive openness,
calls to me and gestures.
come closer
I have something to tell you.
come here.
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