"What I most remember from my visits to the place my father once lived,
are the times feeding the seagulls, on the causeway, with my Uncle Frank."Mutual Regard
Leo KoziolThe chill wind,
the muted light.
Crumbs from week old bread.
They scatter, chatter.A thin veneer of freeze,
the darkness brooding.
I am leaving soon;
will I return?The lake is now frozen,
myself now thawed.
Dead cold is the world;
yet the brightness lives.