These dreams

knocking at the door
pressing into my mind
"Hey, friend, remember me?"
he says in a quiet whisper
tugging on the right heart strings
what did his soul do to me?
send the message a week in advance
40 days too late.

A friend, a friend?
Is that what I was?
What I am? will be?
Was I worth carrying your name?
the little we spoke...meant nothing
that silence, the boy
he did not forget me.
Who was I to be considered a friend?
a keeper of hope, of faith.

the realization's finally come
far too quickly, a different way.
I had wanted just once
one last word, reply, anything
I wanted to let you know I cared
in a way that was too hesitant
I suppose.
I did. more than I thought
the damp cloth ceases to be wrung.
I'm trying now, though, in little ways
to keep a hold of you.

then some night your family visits
searching, asking me where you are
they come again, but I'm searching for them
trying to get the brother to smile
chisel a man from the stone.
again, tonight, though finally different
your memory drips all over
flowing through this dream
painting your canvas.

the dream to shake me up
just to wake me up again
the smile in the memory that you still live
live on the same dirt path
that your enlightening presence is still at home
but your sweet memory cracked in my mirror
remembering you walk a different road
engraved with your glory
and the love you taught us to share.
your visit, so pleasant,
though I struggle to catch your words,
brought the greatest sunrise
that I know will orbit me, come again.

so be it
these dreams
please never cease to visit me
on and on until we meet again,
dear friend.