I long to feel more. 

Everything about this adds up to less.

This is nothing but the death of another 

disremembered dream. My best memories 

search for what I used to believe 

was compassion. Abstraction, the boat I built 

to navigate the numbness, sails on without us.

From piracy to privacy, nobody knew you 

the way I did. But everybody knows you differently 

now, including me. The rest of the old stories 

turn in on themselves. Nothing changes 

the endings, even boredom or bad memory. 

Why change anything when it’s all I can do 

to remember you as you were?  

All that heedless giving is over. The hard part 

was learning to stop talking about you 

behind your back. Even to myself, 

I started sounding as if I was bragging 

about how well I knew you. Praising you 

became a contest with your other friends. 

The prize became the bolder noise of strangers. 

Some of my best friends have become myths.

Meanwhile, even the weather has changed. 

My address book is full of dead and done for names, 

including yours. We always wondered 

what would happen, but I haven’t heard from you 

for quite a while. I wonder what it’s like 

when you haven’t had a beer 

for seven years. I have a beer for you, 

then one for me, then another for both of us. 

Generous to the end, our time preserves itself. 

Let’s drink a silent beer to that.