Sentences 294-300
294. It is rare when the house is quiet at night and both my wife and I are still awake.
295. We debrief the week’s harrowing escapes; we also recline in a ripe quiet.
296. When we are in bed I reach for her hand; and if she asks, I rub her back.
297. I comb my fingers through her hair and scratch her scalp; if we are still awake.
298. Soon she is still and the breathing has burrowed into a narrow cave.
299. Soon the moss covers over our bodies and our lights swing into the dark together.
300. My hand on her leg, our voices sweep across a lake of marrow.
*
Scott Ferry helps our Veterans heal as a RN in the Seattle area. His latest book, each imaginary arrow, is now available from Impspired Press. More of his work can be found @ ferrypoetry.com.
