Awol Poem by Ron Dragano

Stars sail, the night spins
Until the call comes in,
'He's gone, ' she cries.

Sitting on the cluttered porch as if
The Teahouse of the August Moon except
I’m drinking coffee and not
Late enough for moon light, be no moon tonight,
Candle on the table, green outside the screens.
The trees are truly lovely, pattering with rain,
Colonies of leaves stacked against the limp sky,
Apple, beech and birch, the dripping pines,
Poplars, hemlocks, ferns at their feet
Blackberry stalks, weedy vines,
The Japanese maple, once 3 feet
Now over 20 feet tall towering
Over the blue tarp on the woodpile,
My memory, on trial for letting too much slip away,
Found guilty of benign neglect, days gone missing,
No defense, little to say, mute on prayer,
While the lilac glistens by the well and you
Gone where?