I was already gone by then, you nearly were too. He was an old man himself, with skin tanned and rough and a once gentle brow had cured determined.
He came to visit you and your eyes were heavy. It was early morning and the sunshine splintered thru a crystal jar from your windowsill and onto the wall, rolling like waves as the clouds distorted the sky.
He was my brother’s keeper and you were my son’s good friend.
You talked and you slept and you remembered and you forgot and your breath was deep and he was quite.
The tide on the wall was going out and you drifted with it into memories of years past; summers at a beach when he was still small and you would carry him across the hot sand.
A holiday was ending and it was the hardest thing to say goodbye. He was my brother’s keeper. You were my son’s good friend.
One last day was ending and it was the hardest thing to say goodbye.