by Stephen Ruffus
Sleep remains spectral in a blue light,
saturated and dispersed in a prism.
He ripples out like water drawn to
the horizon until it rushes back again.
Or even more truly, he walks up
a steep path with seemingly no end,
trees on both sides giving him comfort
then descends toward the house
where he lives. Although untethered
from him we can still sit together
at the kitchen table resigned that he
may be different from us, embrace
his absence in the present moment
made palpable by a touch, a word, and
all of the many things they will mean.
In memory of my son
11/11/24
Stephen Ruffus has had work appear in numerous journals, such as, more recently, One Art, Radar Poetry, JMWW, and Third Wednesday. Also, a chapbook, In Lieu Of, appeared in 2024 (Elik Press). He has been a nominee for a Pushcart Prize, and was a finalist for the Louis Award sponsored by Concrete Wolf Press. Originally from New York City, he currently lives in Salt Lake City and is a retired college teacher and administrator.