You won't remember this
but we played together as boys, you and I
in the woods of Scotland
on the streets of Damascus

Sticks for machine guns
crab apple hand grenades
direct hit, count to ten
then up again

Your mother was kind, I recall
would berate you for lacking my polished manners
while my mother, of course,
would hold you up
as a shining example to me.

And though it has been years
have we ever been apart?
The peace upon you now
has been upon us both all along
as we have traced this warm collision
through all our separate, numbered days

Count to ten, old friend.
Count to ten
and up again.