After all this time,
old friend so far from home,
my phantom arm:
I feel you there,
tho when I look
...nothing

Had I not outgrown myself,
would we, as before,
be one -- the same?
skipping through fields
in broke-laced shoes;
jeans careless on the bank
we raced to be first
in Spring's wide river.

Blue-lipped, naked, penniless --
consummate in Nature.
Our laughter rustled the cottonwoods,
our friendship polished the water,
our days unsoured by lack of purpose.
Unappreciated then:
A wisdom uncoded
perfectly predicting the present;
that good fortune guiding my foot
before striking a stone.

A sea of troubles welters
that friendlier time.
Ambitions not my own
made me a soldier
-- and struck you blind.

ubuge@mailcity.com