Lou J. Klaiber

DANNY

we wrapped him in field dressings
so wounded badly wounded
propped against a tree staring
mumbling words not meant for me.
“a blue truck… a yellow rose.
a field far away… two crows diving.
a red-tailed hawk… an old barn weathered gray.”

years have passed into sunsets
long shadows walk beside me
birds whisper verse
the sky becomes an easel
for my eyes painting a memory
of Danny
dying.
I paint a blue truck
and a yellow rose
in a field far away.