So far away. In time and distance. Some days I feel you near me, as if hovering nearby. Faint images of your smile and a whispered hint of your words. But it’s all just in my mind. I can’t really see you, I can’t hear your voice and I can’t call you up for advice. Like these Brooklyn Buildings. Inaccessible, distant, closed off for good.
Abandoned and Empty. I struggle at times to see a point. But your whispers return to remind me to look again. And learn. You wouldn’t want us to succumb to fate. Or let philosophical quandaries prevent us from enjoying our lives. Perhaps we all end up alone. Perhaps we all vanish into nothingness. Meanwhile we can work to make the most of the world that exists today. I hear your words and know what you would say. Someday maybe I can take them to heart.
Brooklyn Residence 1975
Passing through. Stopped in the road. Never to reach its destiny. Frozen in time. I look back and you are always there. The pictures give glimpses into your life. But never a chance to really know what was going through your mind.
Somehow the mismatched dates leave me wondering. Always with the questions. They look so similar. Were they really years apart? Which years was I with you? Of course it doesn’t really matter. It’s just the reminder. You would have known. You would have even known the day. And probably had a story to tell. And what’s worse – I record the stories of other people. Tapes and pages filled with their lives. Yours was too close. Asking to record seemed too close to an admission that you could die. And I never believed it could happen. I’m still not sure I completely believe it is true.
New York City 1973
1971. The dust and dirt, accumulations over forty years. The smog itself would obscure the view just the same. And these specks have followed you, have been there. If only they could tell the stories they passed through.
Bridge over Hudson 1971. I should know where this is. Someone will tell me. I wish it could be you… And so it turns out it’s over the Hackensack River. I wonder how many other labels are leading me astray. Too many years of relying on your encyclopedic memory. Never imagining you would be gone so soon.
From the ferry. 1972 Barely here and already like a ghost. Is that how it is for us all?
From the VW van, perhaps? 1972
Central Park Boats 1973 – so cramped and clattering. I’m sure we didn’t ride one then, though I would have wanted to. At least in theory. And you would have done whatever you could to make it happen.
They come back to life as our eyes and their images cross. You took me to a place that soon no longer existed. Who could have known? Like the final phone call last October. I never would have guessed. And
Georgian Cowboy. We both passed you by. But he brought you back and across the world. I found you after he died.
I’ll never understand.
Did we buy the cherries? You could tell me. I'll never know.