(For Tom Pace)
I plan to meet him on my porch during storms when someday he is gone.
We'll drink coffee at night and watch the West stay wild in the sky.
I'll throw my arm around his shoulders and together we'll write redneck haikus - each of them ending in "I suppose" or "Well, anyway."
And one day when I'm gone, we will slowly rock on the same swing, on the same porch, under the same lightning. And there will be no time. And our storms won't have to end.
