Sitting in your sunken sitting-room,
we smoked small cigars, at ease,
loud fond music, aural heirloom:
classical or jazz, both please;
air burnt-scented by Cuban cloak,
you cough, clear throat of croak.
Many years of lost connections,
kitchen-sink dramas once provoked,
paralysis cured, absent corrections:
time-short talk, not so choked;
we both ask questions more kindly,
soft words now bless benignly.
Shall we read some scripture
from shelved bible rarely read?
Happy snaps, poignant pictures,
and church shared wine and bread;
long silences now, daytime sleeping
– which visit will be our final meeting?