(Poem)

A small light creates shadows

In the dark of my night

Awake as an old man

Traffic is heard 

as it bumps over bridges

Tires sing their Doppler song

I touch my leg

In a wish for your hand

And soft voice that asks

if I'm alright as I return to bed

You're not there

You have never touched me

You are a dream for me

That speeds through the night

To take your love

Far away from a small light

Which dims in my heart

Never to have met you

Barry G. Wick