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On Taking The Early Train

Yes, I will try to be brave as dawn’s whistle aches  

on the platform’s edge, the clack of rails beneath pale light;  

here I stand anchored in our shared memory—  

my childhood friend, where might you be?

Still—  

our laughter lingers in dog-eared pages  

tinged with the must of aged paper and trailing jasmine;  

a fine veil of dust drapes tea-warmed tabletops,  

wildflowers blooming through the cracks of absence.

Yet—  

train carriages shrink into mist on the horizon,  

their windows half-revealing a silent witness  

to the crossroads where we parted too soon,  

your voice echoing down empty corridors of yesterdays.

Your friendship has etched its imprint on my soul,  

in every thought and yearning you remain;  

remembrance is all that travels with me,  

and the garden grows wilder without you, dear friend.