Brendan

Two doors removed

Measure of our distance

The intimacy between us

Not vital and not without

Importance

I sit beside the grief

Of your leave-taking

Short of words

Hoping still that presence

Has some meaning

Like the smiling lips

Of your welcome

The fullness of your greeting

As you strode across the Green

The unexpected hug

Of our last meeting

Things will never

Be the same again

And the seagulls know it

Squawking in the squall

That tosses them around

The heavy-laden sky

All poise useless

When the hailstones

Tumble down upon

The mourners at your grave