“Everything you ever try will come to this,”
The darkness whispers with his presence.
He’s like that uncle who gives your Christmases
Their sense of home, even though he’s insufferable.
You can watch him stub cigarettes out in the azaleas.
His girlfriends, drunk and ill-fated, process
Year after year into the kitchen, where they laugh too loud,
Are always up for charades, impress themselves upon
An eternity that is not forthcoming.
But for you, the night sits at the couch by the door,
Offers a nod, which welcomes you to that place
Where all is known, and not a fig given.
O fortunatos nimium, to be back
To the light’s country of origin, and in the black.