Tonight, past has become A vertiginous tunnel that Doesn’t return, even An echo of my call.

You must be down There, somewhere, beyond Any resounding, or even worse Beyond any summons

Issued by my grief At such displacement. Perhaps Memory’s cather is really Insufficient to keep remembrance

From fading. The years have washed Away, along with minor details of Those minor lives, more important things: Friendship and promise of friendship.

No wonder, the rain gargling in the gutters Reminds me of the undead, laughing.