Vanderbilt

Your hand, dear Orion, is missed as I sing

this life to sleep alone and you, 

with rough hewn hands, lay blessings

on our little birds out of my reach.

The sky was blue today, the blue 

of my father's bright eyes.

my sons dreams,

blue of my heart and you

were not here to count the clouds.

Absence of your body, sweet Orion,

leaves me bare against 

their painful fingers as they

desecrate the joy that I held 

on a sunny afternoon in winter.

I dream of you always it seems

only to find my hands are empty

at 3AM when I need you to tell

me that what I am doing now

is good

is needed

is your heart too.