Lou J. Klaiber

A PLACE WITHIN

I follow the river
beneath the slanting compass
of the Sun

Light
dancing within a cold breeze
blowing upon my face
and leaning upon old knees

I pass the junkyard by the steel bridge

Old and lonely things
gathered into piles of memory

The lonely heart of an old-time piano

… the sadness of a guitar without strings

… and always
I remember brave young men

Their faces
following me home

gathering within
again

I hear them
… dead soldiers whispering
in the darkness as I walk
toward the warmth of home

The prayer of sleep