You weíre a Pisces, with skin the color of leather.
Tough as they come. †
In oil-stained Wranglers and mud dusted boots, your hands callused.
Humor came so easily to you, effortless really.
I can still hear that wild howl.
You were my fatherís only brother, with you I was safe.
Still alive in my visons of younger days, boxing with our Dad in the attic.
Humid summer nights, loud rock accompanying.
Always singing Good Bye Blue Sky.
With my eyes closed, I can go back.
Sepia hued photos, a baseball glove and pitcher stance.
Twilight days of your youth settle in my hands.
Youíve passed on Owen, you never got to retire.
You always said your peace, but I never got to say mine.
I owe you an apology, placed here for now.