How are things
on your side
of the fence or curtain,
my son?

I think of you
quite often
as well you know
I guess.

Do you visit me
as I sleep or sit
at my PC
tapping in my words
and you stand there
as you used to do
gazing over
my shoulder
with your silent presence?

When I visit your grave
to bring flowers
or stand and talk
are you there
as I stand and stare?

I think your are
and when I walk away
back along the path
between graves
having sighed
and secretly cried
I imagine you
walking there
by my side.