Death Hovered Over Us: Friendship Forged by Last Days

(In memoriam RJP)

Was it a dream?

A waking dream for me.

My companion dozed and roused. He seemed reassured by my presence. I demanded nothing, asked for nothing.

Safety, quiet, and death hovered over us.

It was a relief to have someone to speak to about death, honestly, without jokes or deferrals. Facts with feelings attached, because without the protective fur of feelings, facts are merely arrows that pierce and achieve nothing but hurt.

Neither of us was in a state of knowing or certainty. While we were comfortable, we were not at rest. A flower, a bird, a funny alligator peering down from the wall. A photograph, a clock, two hearts intertwined, cheap but shining in tones of silver and gold.

A friendship that lasted two weeks. A friendship forged by last days and end times. A friendship we had never enjoyed before while we were dressed in outdoor clothes and shoes, both standing and arguing, both intent on tasks and achievements.

When these things drop away, when they disappear, what do we have?

An essence, like a tiny bite of food, like a tiny sip of water, and you look at the plate and you look at the cup and say, It is enough. It is all I want, all that I hope.

And when you take a moment to leave the room, to take a continuing breath, the radio shuts down, stops talking. Tree branches cease to move, and the heat from the fireplace withdraws.

It is cooler now, it is cool and silent. The silence is the eloquence that awaits us all, that infuses and stills our songs.

I have been practicing growing into silence my whole life, but to do so, you must first find your voice, you must first find yourself in what you say.

A poet of the moment, a creator of fragrant, fading bouquets.

Life, a fragrant, fading bouquet