Pat

I think that perhaps that far distant year has come; I know I can think of this old friend only with affection and withotu regret, only wishing well, and remembering the best. I hope somewhere he can do the same.


For Pat.


Concealment
half conscious and half true
has become like breath to me
I cannot even know myself
and you,
you are like a new found land
stranger than my dreams.
Holding you
I know that I am safe;
but only for seconds.
You escape me and I do not know
if this is chance or just
the way we are.
Your voice I listen for
amid the babble and the crush
in which we live
and when I think or when you
give, some proof
of caring
I quickly find some sign
our lives weren't meant for
sharing or for love.
Yet still I know that
you are somehow mine;
I think in some far distant year
you will think of me
and I of you
with knowledge
If we do I hope that fear is fone
and all that will remain
is memories of laughters
wild nights and stories sadly told
and heard
between two trusting friends.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

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