Sitting in your sunken sitting-room,
we smoke cigars and 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 now 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;
at Sunday service wine and bread;
long silences due to daytime sleeping
– which visit will be our final meeting?