Phoenix
by Dale J. Sprague
Reveries
4.7.2006
You are gone and I think of you. My sons and I drink to your memory on the date you passed on. To where, perhaps..it comforts me to think, some place close'by somehow. We have a jigger filled for you. If it is still there by the end of the night, I drink it for you, the least I could do. I've thought of writing some literary art piece to preserve some essence of you, but all I can do is produce this paltry reverie. Even under the un'inhibiting influence of juniper berry and olive, I find it difficult to push you into some conscious construct. You, perhaps, have not seen me beyond what you would like to have seen, but you have always given me respect, perhaps in return to the respect I have always had for you. I think of you and wish you are here. Bushmills, cribbage..a song, a joke. I always admired your ability to tell a joke. I've tried, but was not good at it. My sense of humor is more in vivo situational. There were many time when I was able to make you laugh. It gave me great pleasure to do so. The only way I can finish this reverie is to pour myself an Irish in your memory. So I did. Mainly, I watched you, felt you, and only wished to connect to you in some way. "Love runs deep," you said. It is true, beyond words. I cannot express your essence in words. All I can do is miss your spirit, but then..maybe more of you is here than I know.