Posted in Death

Horizon

Friendship was almost a decade old
before we shared our dreams.
By then we had shared a house
tents, music, books and prejudices.
Chance broke the seal – an uncensored remark.

A ten day walk around an island
south of the world’s southernmost city.
A winter’s trip in the summer of our lives
expected beauty
and unexpected closeness – the perihelion of our friendship.
Conceived as distraction from careers
an opportunity to add to memory
what been a forgotten part of our country
before guidebooks and adventure tourists
turned wilderness into compulsion.

On the last day the circle is complete
a return to the starting point
finishing along a wind ruffled road
city reticence not yet reclaimed.

A sigh about returning to work
“ it means nothing to me.”
He is surprised. Me too – my employer highly regarded.
A pause
and “ you have someone to return to.”
It was his dream he said to have someone
to live in a loving partnership.
Unexpectedly he asked about mine.
to be a writer I confide.

When our dreams were visible
the comet of friendship had circled the sun.
Memory could plot its path
the eye could never find it.

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Author:

Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.