To Mr. Russell Ford!!

Slow in the hot air as the carpet ramped in the view of just a storage,

the vent went with eyes that grazed that comfortable tale,

in whip that was the drape.

I went to the grasp of why is the rib on that back latch,

great is the vending machine to type a write,

in thorough the time rose as the pedals read.

Found on the concrete in each crack,

that was the Chappaquiddick,

and how that scratched the made in a pitcher of what is a say.

To chase this is the Post Box with a number,

throws are but the scream,

in voice it is that blank blink looking back at a husband in the steep.

Tea Kettles run a chapter,

as morning wreck the temperature does rise in sun it is his bye's,

from what is the tunnel vision that blinds my tire.

Oh friend in the forest stream of ice chill bill,

do not felt,

the antler is that year and the fall real.

Be kept to that as the drink is not a half of full to top a cold,

it banks you.

Start to the left and sort no file,

for it is not money that retrieves a grief to smile smudges,

it is not the chalk that clears a black board to know of white bored,

writ.

Spelling rums to what is a beef,

it is the liquid of what is the year to a stale,

stage that to rump.

Kindness is a reach yet this is the professed,

more on that is the cobble stones path,

a field that I say the stones are in the binding of wall,

yet look at Ireland and see beauty in your bravery to sail.

There in your life a quilt,

sewn with rump to stifle as the jet to stone did come to throne,

mark judge and do not laugh the sit,

it is a gang of what talk is made to jist the jest to an or,

forever in this is my heart to untangle your grieving husband.

Dear husband,

a first in the ice,

a glacier that is I,

melting not my style,

and yet I find myself in this bile.

No frost shall shift my shale to say to you stand,

feel my heat and hot I am to your swell,

in that be a man upon a stance,

see deeply,

in Well.

Far below there is water that a tumbler did erupt,

in this accuracy see those eyes that did that sump,

feel the scare and seep.

As that roar beacons to you the hatred upon your top,

know of the hat,

be Wall Street and style this type,

love the bike regardless.

As the spook is but a butter to the creamed,

look to the brow,

each lift to that is the palm in hand,

as Stars are not a Galaxy and Land is not Span,

say to self that you are the mire. 

From wish to a bone it is the honesty that made a phone,

knowing the numbering is dancing,

do not forget to care for yourself in days of marrow,

iron and sad.

Cry to the ocean and the waves will move sand to need,

the pain will explain should your method be a truth,

dig your toes into reality as the beach is a counted grain,

the part that makes a shadow the grip is the path that leads a key,

desperate not it is shaled.

It is death that takes the serious of my word to door,
street stress,
the mass of amounted is not to be relieved as language comes.

Revive your reins to brace your own life,
be frank at the shoulder of your own loft,
this is a Grand Canyon of a speech,
to taste this vernacular is grace.

Confidence on the Walk,
grief on the stand is navigated?,
no,
grief on the stood to ownership of your love is navigation on your done,
now in back to basics be a method,
it is this that does not brake an operation,
this is the path that allows the Snake River to run.

A gentle plain in only the gift of my mother to you,
"Onward forward",
by the strength of life as the love is life's heart.