98poems/friends

FRIENDS

Sometimes when I’m out,
I look up to see
one of my walking friends,
people I know
only on the trail.
We wave, always a large
sweeping wave –
there’s something about
a walking wave like no
other,
the way it reaches out,
open,
without the social guise
of other greetings.
And then we jump right
in to conversation,
a daughter’s phone call
a birthday celebration
surprise drop-ins
spring cleaning
the windmill Grandfather built
the wife’s recurring cancer
tales of Del Dios,
who lives in the big gray
house.

4/24/98