For Fred, at 85

We were lucky, you and I,

on those mornings in Mexico

at the edges of the sea

in the arms of sweet women

whispering our names

to welcome us back into Eden.

Let us celebrate, growing old,

the laden ark of the heart

as it out-rides the storm

filled with the pleasures of life.

Let us celebrate the slide of bare feet

over the coolness of the tiles

and the salt-scent of bodies

pressed against us at dawn.

What a world, then, was ours,

in its plenitude of delights.

in the opening of its gates,

in the comrades who made us at home.

And can it be otherwise, ahead?

Through the avenue of the trees

we can see the Sea of Oblivion;

dozing, we rock in its arms;

the soft sound of its waves

is like the whisper of angels --

o yes, they are saying our names.