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20:19

Kids home with me.  All of us together, perfect.  Nothing I wish for more.  Thinking of our eventual house, vineyard at side, watching them play, asking me when the grapes will be ready.

Just dreams of a single dad tonight, no matter how much they bicker and scream and scuffle with each other.

Camera dead.  Shit.  Then for some reason a pic the Nurse took of me at some point here in the loft appears when I reopen the laptop.  It’s clear, wine, she, we, all of this, my family – the STORY.

Send her a description of a Grenache recently tried – “Wild character, a bit scattered but still a spell – rhythmic clef and step, beatific Beat, a love street – other side, Morrison-like ride….” Something about that wine had me spiraling, seeing future rows and walks with little Henry.  

For some reason, all my wine dreams immediate find him and his image, his growth and character and voice, aggrandizing expression.  I’m here at this nook table grateful.  A single dad with a new book, new year, and completely unaffected by those people.

FREE.

ME.

A start with newly sharpened imagist poetry.

Nurse messages me again.  I smile.  Love.  Caught.  Home.  

FREE.