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

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