For the beautiful ones who almost were…

We may never
ever again
be the way
we once were.

We may no longer
dance the cha-cha
and sip palm wine
in the shade
of the coconut palms
as Coltrane serenades
and the sea breezes
ripple through
the flimsy thatch
that breaks the fall
of the gently
falling rain.

We may
now never know
the blessing of the
Old Man’s Libation, or see
his scrawny fingers
split the kola nut
or the unerring aim
of the red spittle
from his toothless gums

But
in that dark,
quiet place;
beyond the banks
of the Styx
where Forgetfulness,
blurs everything,
we may pretend;
but can’t forget
the delirious Joy
of the way
we once
were.