Those years are tattered shards of yellowing
paper. Our drifting ambitions
and increasing silence,
both accidental and intentional.
The bride looks beautiful.
I can think of only a time or two
when you wore a suit of any kind.
Have we been so lost in our pursuits
that we have lost the need
for each other?
The tropical breeze blows
from the digital image
of that afternoon.
I recognize no one
in those pictures except
for you. We are guilty
of the same thing.
Though I would say
it seems like things
have turned out well
for you, old friend.
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