A crawl and then a walk
Never in its season;
A laughter and then a talk
Never in its season.
All a backdrop to his life
distant to his ears...a curiosity
Never center stage...
Lurking in the corner and shadow
Life going on around him
In him yet not.
Misguided questions from those shadows
Reaching out to touch an elusive person
Never quite.
A sensible life...
important for us to order;
To him improbable...
Became his own creations.
Words and feelings foreign.
Insects became his curiosity,
lightbulbs his fascination,
Painting colors an expression,
Lengthy showers his caressing,
Photographs his history, without captions,
only filed, neatly of course,
An ordering in his life.
Years unmatched by growth
Only lengthening the shadows.
Games meticulously etched in scrapbooks
With mazes and riddles from an earlier time,
Yet continuing as his sense of life,
Our sense of tragedy,
To be played.
Work quickened the heart, renewed the hopes...
Perhaps there is a way.
Fate cruelly teasing the yearning
As if scripted to be played out.
The riddle unsolved,
The shadows lengthening and tightening their grips...
All, forever, in its season
At Last!
Love,
Uncle Dave
8/27/85
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