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I wonder if I will always note that this was the date

upon which my friend died now two years ago.

The moon was full that night, there was no drought

and it was certainly not as hot then as it is now.

I saw a colleague of hers the other day

who said he’d thought of her recently.

I think of her every day,

I said and he looked rather startled.

Words and phrases that passed

from her everyday language into

mine and mine to hers I suppose

that is the biggest culprit as we

were both always keen on words.

I noted in my journal that in those last days

out of her head and drugged with morphine

the word poem popped into her ramblings

again and again not so surprising as she

was likely writing one in her head even then.

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