Last Love Song for Yogi Berra

It gets late early out there,
I know. Saving Time sits benched
in the winter dugout.
Yet I am pleased to be reclining

in worn arms of a faithful chair,
beneath this lamp that has stood tall
above so many pages, draped
in a soft shirt given by a friend.

Relieved tonight not to be
sweating the verdant hills of Umbria
or driving alone across
the fields of forgotten Asturias.

Glad, too, not to be missing the ones
I need, so missing myself.
The dog buries his snout between
my thigh and cushion. Two peaked

white ears remain. I take a wafer
into my mouth, then a swallow
of wine. Only the grapes are exotic
this evening, wild mushrooms

plump and pale in a bowl
awaiting their sautéed fate.
Nothing's that simple, of course, not
ever. But it seems I came to a fork

in the road, one dark hour
little different from others,
dividing some landscape I recognized.
And so I took it, and still do.

Copyright © 2004 Gaylord Brewer All rights reserved
from Exit Pursued by a Bear
Cherry Grove Collections
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission