The Auction A box of clocks that let time slip away And stacks of Popular Mechanics A world of tomorrows from yesterday A cozy chair that's all used up And tools that need tools to fix them up A #life arrayed in box lots Displayed on porch, and floor and table tops The master of the house withdrawn They mill about, this misty morn Seeking treasure on the cheap Amid a four score and then some heap. The vitals drained and laid aside There's nothing here that you can buy That takes from us a dram of him. The #life he was still thrives within. In box lots and heaps of treasure dear That none can cart away from here.

She waits. She waits just beyond the pane Of glass framed in cedar, yet Who can see her, concede her Imminence is hindered only By our hesitance? We need her. She waits just beyond the pain, Of loss framed in satin, yet Who can touch her, rush her Reclining unbidden, in plain sight Hidden, by my hands on my eyes. She waits...not.