Beginning of a letter, some questions and afterthoughts.

Yesterday on my way to the office I met Lawrence Graham who spent Summer at our place back in 195...

Yesterday on my way to the siege of Troy

I met Larry G. smiling like he did ten summers ago

At that place near the sun where we met.

Is it yesterday now and was that decade's past summer yesterday?

What does one speak of to the only real summer in his life, ten years later? The cliches of "you're looking fine" and

"What ever happened to" someone you didn't like?

Yesterday on the crowded subway to work

Spud (our secret name) was pushed right up against me

As close as the times we hid together in the tall reedy pondbanks.

And our eyes met (Spud's and mine) recalling that big moment

When we explored the glacial caverns and pretended we were lost.

Yesterday I saw today and tomorrow.

Yesterday I saw Summer.

Yesterday I saw Love.

Yesterday on my way to yesterday

I recalled that in our happiness we devoured

The passionate moon, the athletic days of sun, each other, and the summer. Morty Finklestein told us that next Monday would be Labor Day

As he brought in the wrought iron chairs from the terrace.

Yesterday on my way to the death

That I knew I must die slowly,

The perfume of Spud's July and August reminded me

That time was the great enemy.

The unkind separator, standing between me and

Lawrence Graham, Larry G., Spud, the swift summer, and even now our mute barrier.

Whisper Spud, whisper.

Would you take me back, smiling as you are,

Take me back to pleasant Sunday afternoons

Spent walking through country roads

Leading to country paths and quiet hidden chalets,

Back to a look-then-giggle friendship, a physical knowing.

Yesterday on my way to my assassination

I was stopped by my deliverer, a knight without armor,

Who warned me of my impending death

At the hands of the doors that I would eventually pass through.

Wm. Moore

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