To One Long Missing Who at Last Comes Home

In flight so long I
scarcely noticed you were gone
into some fine mist of forgetfulness.

Every fine once in a while your name
on someone's lips would rise but only conjure
a face hidden by storm clouds.

and driving rains the theme in all turns of weather
and an empty chair at a table long deserted-
I should have come looking for you.

Where would I have led you?

I who only recently have arrived on earth.

Where but to a dark shoreline of my own
or farther still far out at sea and waving
at the lighthouse, possibly drowning?

I had hoped you had escaped the storms
and were smiling at the world's open window
waving at my passing ships.

Glen Woodard
February 9-10, 1999