Please see if I say this right…

A friend of mine died

in a kind of myth.

No, not a kind of myth

real myth

the story where all the words are true

but few of them are fact.

He and I used to talk

for hours

about this and that things.

He could talk over me

and his words reached through me.

I loved his talk.

His better conversation was always in his pause.

Somewhere along the way he had mastered silence.

He could enter himself and stay there for hours

and never leave his partner alone.

Wherever your talk was going to take you

his deep, happy, eloquent silence,

somehow announced

like brass with cymbals

that he was already there,

there where you were going

and he was only waiting for you to catch up to him.

so you could see the place he could see

in just the way he could see it.

He could wait for your to apprehend him

and that was the most I could do most times.

For most of the time I did no more than catch up, apprehend,

never ingest, never comprehend.

I miss him,

have missed him,

will miss him, 

will never stop missing him.

I miss most of all the pauses

in his deep and eloquent silence, where he would go ahead

and wait for me to catch him.

I was weighted down with words,

which were the sign of my importance

so much I dragged the true myth down to mere fact.

I will miss his deep, bearish, loving, sweet silence and try to eumualte him, if  I may

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