Sitting in your sunken sitting-room,
we smoke cigars, sit at ease,
listening to loud music boom:
classical or jazz, both please;
air scented by Cuban fumed cloak,
you cough, clear throat of croak.
Re-welding years of lost connections,
kitchen-sink dramas once provoked,
absent your constant corrections:
time-short talk, not tear-choked;
we both ask questions more kindly,
soft words now bless both benignly.
Shall we read some scripture
from shelved bible rarely read,
or view snaps, poignant pictures,
blessed be the wine and broken bread;
long silences due to daytime sleeping
– which visit will be our final meeting?