I've not been back to that place
with avenues of mangoes and summer fruit
pouring such gold through the grass a woman called,
“Leave the windfalls! Here are some I've just picked,”
and filled our arms from her bucket.
I've never returned to that pool where I leaped
from the ten metre platform, wild to impress you.
When you clambered too and trembled, heart-
squeezing loveliness, I yelled stupidly, “Jump!”
You stepped off, you tore us to the white depths
of the world, the body's greed and regret, but then
our slow astoundment of friendship.
Forty years and the eddies tug and stir.