He strolls between the walls surrounding the quadrangle where the statue stands.
Each step down the hall reverberates on the worn terrazzo floors.
Sand crackles underneath his leather soles.

Faces in old wooden frames.
They laughed and danced – now distorted, swept to sepia overtones.
The aged portraits of youth doing well,                                                                                          woven with threads of self-indulgent narcissism all one hue.

Where to stand and take it in?
What late afternoon spill of light attends the illumination,                                                            where faltering steps change the uncertain asymmetric smiles?

Time expects reminiscence but does not wait or want.
It whistles tunelessly along the hall, pushing past, present and future into fullness,
over before it starts.

The foot steps in and then out,
and turns, beginning a new dance,
created and made fresh by every breath.

You are from another life – another time,
where you laughed and cried together,
or hated one another in the dark moments that slipt between,
when the light failed in the hallway.

He wanders diminished days – to some Valhalla in a wind-blown hallway
where leaves rush from the east on crisp autumn days.
They foretell winter’s chill and first snow fall.

Here bonds valued in another time are revisited and seek completion –
the hope of recognition awakens flames that burn bright,
lighting the pathway one more time.

The pictures on the wall recoup their faded color.
They take a new cast amidst the shuffling feet.

One comment

  1. Well said Doug. At last year’s 50th reunion tour (given by Greg Poferl), similar thoughts were shared by classmates while viewing the 1964 class photo in the hallowed halls of Cretin.

    “The friendships we’ve made will live for’er in memory”


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