Suddenly almost,
I found myself standing beside you in
your yard greeting
people who came to wish you well
at the simple ceremony in your village
for those whose belonged to
your father’s childhood.
It was a moment that flowed for a while
outside of our regular time,
a part of the river that branches out a bit farther at a certain bend
to never
get lost in the sea.
It was more than a silent decade after we
had left school, our faces barely lined with
hints of moustaches.
I came because we had miraculously found ourselves
in the virtual web of things;
miraculous because for a brief while we
wrote to each other
fervently, showing each other
the mirrors we had used over the years.
We spoke between all the happenings around us,
of what? I do not remember.
I gave you a book, an odd wedding gift;
but among things
it was the only thing tied
to our childhood.
The next day,
from a distance I saw you
circling sacred fire
and then again found myself beside you having
a simple, intimate meal
so rare at weddings.
Among hours, those hours stand
like a lighthouse
illuminating
the shore where we played,
children.
Tony Xavier 