We buried our yesterday friend of sixty years long past, and with him our yesterday lives. The sun comes up, the moon goes down, the wind turns the corner with a smile. Each added moment of one together makes the present. There is a silence found in grief: the sun drops behind the hills, light cools on your shoulders, the stillness of the night spreads out like a blanket under the trees. It teaches you the words you learn by speaking.
Dante's Woods 
Hi, Barry.
I wasn’t very good at sending a reply regarding your most recent four poems. I always enjoy reading your thought-provoking material.
I told Billy you had sent some more poetry. I then asked if he had finally read that batch of poems you had sent (seemingly ages ago) that I had forwarded to him. He acknowledged he has yet to read them. As you know, he really enjoyed and had commented on some of your poems I had previously sent him. Frankly, I don’t think he’s motivated to do much of anything these days, even work. I know it’s the weed. Terrible stuff, particularly the much more potent strains than were used in the late ’60s.
Please keep on writing and sending as you enjoy your retirement. You look rested and contented in your profile photo. Good companionship is probably helping!
Blessings to you always,
Bill
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