I try to make you laugh – circling you with tales, like some jester.
You are waiting patiently for me to settle, secure.
It takes a while…you pour and sit me outside, I do me better there.
The air is still warm, summer’s sun hangs on long this far south.
My stories slow and enter valley places.
Your eyes never leave mine in doubt or distraction.
My voice breaks during a tiny scene of redemption in a drama of debt and death.
You ask me questions, eager to know more, this is a CSI case, not my confession of ineptitude and disgrace.
And suddenly, it seems to me, mine is story in search of a telling…a yarn of wonder, not a noose.