My Friend

I used to think that memories
could only shadows be.
That loss and grief, regret uneased
wiped out reality.
No smile remembered counts as "smile."
No grateful tear as "wet"
if only held a little while
in memory, and yet,
the times have etched some days so sharp
that down the long-halled years
they stand still graced with present shape:
at ending, you are near.