I wear old shadows
and drink rainwater.
I sift through the evening news,
looking for a story on doves.
Often I stand for hours
in the window
of the Central Hotel
to provide a silhouette.
I converse with pigeons,
who know a thing or two
about retirement
and how the sun rises.
Yesterday
Jesus gave me a quilt
and a paperback novel
about the end of the world.
He said he was proud
of my service
in World War One.
He gave me a hug.
I forgot to tell you--
my neighbor died on a bench
last winter.
For many hours
he was a monument
to the color blue
and the wind
and the texture of stone.
If I have time,
I will carve twilight
from a memory or two
and think of old kisses
and wine.
I will open the door
to my apartment
before dinner
and watch
the shadows of warriors
wander silently
down the hall.
Before bed,
I will listen to Mahler
on a transistor radio
through an open window
and find a dream,
perhaps,
that will not mind
if I stumble or fall.
~William Hammett
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