He looks into me now, and smiles. 
His eyes are softer than they were
even a few years before:
He still presumes i am generally wrong,
regardless of the topic – he’s made me
more thoughtful
and less judgmental of opinions.

More curious.

He still taps madly at his keyboard,
contributing to papers
long past the age that most
have abandoned vocational pursuits
i doubt he’s any longer paid much of anything,
but i’m glad he’s still engaged.

Thirty minutes later
i sweep all the thoughts that follow
into a box and
close them in
beneath the lid. 
Thoughts decomposing
into fragmenting ribbons…