Who could have imagined
that you, that I, that we
would share earth together
for this long stretch of time?
What are the odds?
Not 50-50 even.
A million-to-one?
A vast complexity of accidents gone right
for the convergence of our histories
to become the stories that we told.
One micro-miniscule choice,
one slight deviation from desire,
one postponed paternal urge,
and the space we shared
would have remained empty.
The shirt now hanging in your closet is empty.
The space you occupied since 1943 is empty.
My heart is now full of that empty space.
But my closet of memory is full of you,
my friend.