I’ve hit a milestone,
but there is a way to go,
that isn’t downhill.
Evening falls quicker,
bringing a change on the land,
beckoning more lights.
The one folded page,
holds a secrete long suppressed;
where did I read to?
Mugs of black coffee,
marked the time she spent working,
at the typewriter.
The guitar played out,
into the night and settled,
into the long grass.
