Drifting Away
I feel like a Yank Returning to this rugged Remoteness Her face in repose Utterly unfamiliar In death It is her voice That remains The bright kindliness With which she used To speak my name Summoning summer days Of another time Young men Fishing Fast driving Effortless friendship I remember David diving Into the bottle-green Calm of the deep To retrieve the oar That had slipped Drifting away Like a prophecy Coming back To the shallow shore And the dying Out of our friendship I still don’t know How we became Such strangers I think of him now Pray for him s leeping Slipping away Far away from here The innocent bed We shared back then In the way that young friends did As close in soul As in body The tender warmth Of it The beauty And though it is lost It is a history That abides within my soul Treasured
