1 minute read
Happy To, He Said
I asked a favor of a man. A quick come-and-go, you understand.
Bigger than a bread box? No. I hoped for a bit of his own just-so:
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a bottled message for the tide
a trace of deep or maybe wide
a gleam upon a vacant shore
a crack of light beneath a door
He’d be happy to, he said. I hadn’t known him long so I was glad.
Came a silence I can’t diagnose. There’d been a time frame. An outermost. Now he clicks like on my Facebook posts.
