I have friends who went,
to Bethlehem, to Paris, to Spain.
Left for London, Beachy Head.
Those friends came back,
back to Halifax, Portland, Bangor–
My friends go.
They go
to the bar for a pint.
They go
to the South for the summer.
They go
to plant trees in Alberta–
The friends who go
are the friends who went.
But I have friends
who are
gone.
Friends
who are
gone
cannot go
to the bar,
to the South,
or to Alberta.
Some friends have left–
through some door,
in the night, in the day,
in a car, on a bed,
on a stretcher, in the street–
and yes, they are
gone.
Where will I go when I am
gone?
Will I be with my friends?
Perpetually traveling
to the South, to Alberta,
to the bar for a pint?
No. I will not go.
I cannot go, once I am gone. When I go, I will be
gone.
I could go anytime,
night or day,
In a car, on a bed,
a stretcher, or street–
Yes, I could go. And when I go, when I leave–
I will be
gone.
So,
Friends who have
gone
where I cannot go,
they must know–
that we all will go, we all leave–
soon, yes, soon. Now,
in the pause
between
moments,
in the quiet space
of a last
breath–
we
all are
gone.