Boy from Eugene Oregon
Dirt poor, he says, growing up
you and a gaggle of brothers picked berries for
extra cash, later, as a man, you bought the house
that your grandfather built, let your mother
live in it, cried while we were in Dallas
when it burned down,

every so often we choke on circumstance,
gulp hard against the thrush of time

but we can still try and get gloriously drunk,

but time is a light, a heavy curtain,
harsh dusk of Colorado, full mooned,

watch you sleep, star fished,
tilt my head to the stories you tell, ghosts
in the phone, cut out when you talk,

apologize, emphasize that we are far from home,

very
far
from home.