A Fond Farewell

One day I sent some words to Tel Aviv. Perhaps, they whisper in the grasses yet. Good-bye to my last teacher and my best. A letter to be read over your grave. I left you in another century. There was no place for poetry to stop. I think you understand how limited Mere words and stanzas are to bring you back. Your shadow lingers on that distant pane, Through which two wordsmiths viewed their brevity. You often signed your letters with, 'Till soon', Warm words far more endearing than farewell. In memory of Walter Barzelay