Down on some other playground, maybe slightly down the street.
What would that budding boy be like just starting out?
Would we find this small child as caring and sweet?
Playing little league or running the woods as a scout.

What was built into him that lead me to the one I knew -
these values that were instilled or taught
through the 1980s as that little body and mind grew?
The footsteps that lead up to his crest I sought.

If united in that early friendship band
and obversely down the road
I’d have grown to double the man
in our adumbrative adulthood bode.

Why didn’t that take place?
Like a single scintillate spark
with a momentum far too hasted.
Somehow you got lost in your dark
the dark of the mourners’ ash smear
but less mourning its bitter and its sweet.
Vanishing after a couple of years
when we just synchronized our heartbeat.
Do angels really wear white
maybe that is meant in the abstract?
Because I can’t pretend what I saw with my own sight
I know, at least, my angel wears black.