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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Word Requiem in D Minor Hello. Fancy meeting you here. Last time we met like this? That would be 1979, at Rio. I remember we walked slowly Up to the second floor balcony, Of the overlooking science building, Scanning with four eyes the big cemetery, Set out beyond a mile or so to the southeast, Spread out before us with its big green mouth, Yawning voraciously with empty stomach, And the chapel there, with bell tower and chimes, Drawing in our eyes as we talked for the final time. By the chapel there one can see a patch of lawn, Translucent and pure verdant as the ‘old garden’ at sunset. We stared at the patch obliviously that day And talked on, sadly and ironically; We were at last Engaged to the coming times of change and tragedy; Engaged to other faces and voices we had not foreseen; Then one of us died unexpectedly and is now buried out there, Aside the chapel, within the patch of pure verdant green grass, With the pulsating piercing strides of the bell tower and chimes, Throttling the survivors with their insistent reminders of grief. Remember? You died 5 years later in an explosion of loud fire. Witnesses heard you screaming as death pulled you to its womb. Then it was your turn to taste the flash of finality; Your intended inexorable date with The Giver and Taker of all. You know, I’m 68 years along now, and the older I get, The less I care about how I smell, look and talk. You should see me. My hair is gone! All those long black English strands, like snakes In the thousands, you loved putting your fingers through, especially in the darkness behind my closed locked door, With one candle lit and spasming on the ascending book shelf, With spritzed spirits of shadow flickering upon the ceiling, And you, my artist and sitting subject, both, finding the sky treasures, Inside the quiet-night concealments reserved for us in the old den, Now treasured as gold chains and ivory boxes, these memories. Is it time now for you to return? Is the window of life open now for you to slip through the curtain? Is there a phone number I can call when you are free? Not even a postal address I can send a letter to for you to read? Hey, I drove by your house recently and our tree is still standing, Still bearing branches and leaves, and I’m sure our mark is still there, Embedded with a knife our initials and “1969” into desiccated bark. Goodbye
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