I believe my mind is
going through a progressive
stage of dry rot.
How do you contain the spread
of dieing cells within the brain.
There is no warning.
There is no pain.
So here, on this Earth,
I must stay and remain,
a humble servant,
with so much to explain.

My life is over,
once more, again,
As my emotions
are torn, into bits
from trying to discuss,
the medical history of my wife.
When she asked me ,
"What happened in 2013?"
I explained,
as best I could,
knowing what I said
would be misunderstood.
It was.

"There is gold,
in them, there hills,"
would bring a rush
and tingle your skin,
as you dreamt of riches,
in the grounds depth, there in.
My grandfather, my father,
several brothers too,
had claims of land
and searched for gold.
The area was east of CleElum,
off the Blewett Pass Hiway;
a small venue town of Liberty.
Swauk Creek, where gold was
discovered in 1873.
Swauk Creek, was the place to be.
It had been dredged and the creek
bed was marred with large piles of
rock and debris.
It would not pass today, environmentally.
Many a "stake" was made and a claim
would be filed. Usually the object was
to dig a mine, the assumption being
the gold washed down from the hillside
above the creek. You, the claim owners,
were required to show, a specified dollar
amount of investment, annually and track
the amount of time spent.
To discover the gold, which still remained,
was a wild idea and it was your claim.

Once upon a midnight,
I was weary
and forgot to close the large garage door.
Someone stopped by for midnight shopping
and decided they like my golf clubs.
When I awoke the next morning I looked
out the window and saw three different
colored objects, that looked like my golf
hats which I had put on top of my late clubs.
I sit here now,not being teary for I hadn't
played golf for 4 or 5 years as I lacked the time
and was a full time care giver for my wife
who has Dementia.
I was going to sell the clubs as that is what
those who play at golf like to do. My only
regret was they took my YES putter which I
had grown sentimental about.
The value of the clubs as old as thesee wasn't
too high. Unfortunately the replacement costs
are close $2800. Oh well perhaps it is someone
who can make use of the idle equipment and enjoy
the benefit. Hope not but, please return my putter.

As we sat on the bed,
folding laundered clothes,
you looked at me
and said, "Are you my wife?"
I told you , I am
your husband.
I asked you if you knew my name?
Your said, "Joe" who is our oldest
Son. You tell me you love me
and I believe that you do,
but I am almost as confused
as I find in you.

Must I way
or simply weigh?
Must I wait
or add on weight?
Can I pound a stake
or pound a steak
to tenderize.
Interesting questions
so I now surmize,
I may not be back.
Now, that's a surprise.

I am falling asleep,
as I sit here and write,
so do not be impatient.
When I am slow to respond
to your questions,
you ask again and again.

Why must you go?
Why must you leave?
What are you saying?
Why must I grieve?

All memories dim.
Some fade from view
to be discovered again,
by a sight or "trigger"
which opens a
new route to,
a long forgotten event
or perhaps, a happening
and, like magic,
the memory is there.
Capture it now,
for memories can be
elusive and attempt to flee.

Wash the paper,
sketch the subject,
faint the line.
Select your brush,
mix paint on the pallet,
keep paper flat
to avoid paint run
of watercolor.
Paint the picture,
wet or dry.
Work your art.
Nice first try.

There isn't much I can say, about you,
which hasn't already been said,
except to say, "you look remarkably well,
for someone, who I thought was dead.
How many days have been lost,
since we both entered life's fray,
when we hung with each other
and dreamed of the historical day?"

Clouds so thick; a marshmellow sky.
A marine push, we were told
which would bring, freshets of rain.
A light mist, which soon it fell,
brought little relief to the parched land,
dry to the hands touch.
The grass crunched as I walked
and plants were, tinder box dry.