I kneel,
cry out
for soothing touch
sure to heal
like summer's rain,
but get nothing.

Friends' faces
move in memory
like frightened mice.
They scurry away.

He gave up life
for a handful of dope.
His street buddies must have
jeered his passing
into earth.

In near-forgotten years,
we talked of dreams, plans,
wonders,
with laughing girls.
Other guys lounged about,
we young bucks,
blind for time.

He traveled his own tunnel
into a black-fringed news story,
with me
left weeping.