His hair
neat
was every bit as
gray
as mine
but he'd lost a
few teeth fallen out
like
death in dreams
in a calm spare
eloquence
he lamented the
death
of his dreams
his hands
had helped build
homes
for PhDs turned
politicos
and for scammers having
slipped
through the manifold
cracks of the justice
system
yet a
home of his own lay
beyond
his reach
a
star
in a galaxy unseen except by
Hubble
And what can I
say to him
for yet
his toil
continues
as does
mine
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