It’s been strange and dislocated, but then again, it’s always been.

Except for all those blessings; in times of faith unseen.

I’ve been praying here in silence. Some words I share with God.

You’ve been missed. Not really here. I suspect you’re on the nod.

A wind that whistles through the trees. Sometimes, I hear the howl.

I had tried to make it up to you and, in the end, threw in the towel.

Sometimes, I hear the laughter. Sometimes, I hear the storm…

Sometimes, I don’t talk about it… Sometimes, I hope you’re warm.