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Near Boats

Today
at the table
near boats,
with creaking
iron-wrought chairs
and glasses filled
with martini drink,
we come together
to close some
of the distance
life has wrought
since my father
fought and lost.
Like a waterfall
that never stops
time can weather
whatever closeness
manages to hang on.
But today we are here
with cold drinks
on a cold day
near boats
smiling,
while the
afternoons shorten
and fold
as though
they never were,
as though
we could start
again together,
however
improbable
that might
seem.

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