Dim Gold - In Memory of Aaron Bulman

So my words go

like the air blows

through the vents of

a cheap hotel

Barely warm

slight in form

hardly noticed

harnessed wind

I miss my dead friend

just now and then

but mostly now

if not now when?

His spirit moves me

to move creatively

from hand to pocket

pen to page

The sun is dim gold

my work day unfolds

This poem breathes

beneath my skin.