Goodbye

How will we finally say it?
An argument?
Head tossed suddenly, crimson hair flying,
body angled away and angry?
Painful silence?
Drifting, lost, love unsighted
over fog-bound horizon?
Unreturned telephone calls?
Or maybe, just the smallest chance,
a gentle wave of an aged, wrinkled hand,
gesture speaking volumes,
sign recalling decades
filled with shared history
and brimming with love?

11/13/98

Daniel Friedman's Poetry & Short Stories
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