London

I’m finding that
The hardest part of being away
Are the people of need
Where I wish the heat of my palm
Could be found on their back
Silence, sweet silence shared
Preferred over the mutters and sorrys
That the phone dribbles forth
Things that must be done
In person

Now to see life pulled
Like a renegade thread escaped from
The weave of a poorly made shirt
The vibrant breaths, youths time-lapsed
Cheated friends you thought immune
Now fighting rather than walking
The water keeps not the flowers fresh
Spoiled among the preserved
And yet we all get old and die
Some go before us, the list ignored
How the sadness of our friends difficult paths
May foreshadow our fears
Or the jealousy of our inadequate wills.