I do often feel alone,

my chair, my bastion.

It’s where all my will

resides in memory and

the recesses in my life.

I’m relying upon a 

space to call my own.

Tears are allowed here,

grief masked in comfort.

I dreamt last night of

missed opportunities.

There are always those

reminders prevent me

a fitful sleep in dreams.

Coffee made, composed,

rain is falling outside.

The ceiling fan twists

my dog sighing lays close.

What would my life be like

without my favorite chair,

I ask myself in my own

silence, my quiet solitude.

Soft  is rain, like a dance,

my heart and soul at rest.