The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood-
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.

We talk of art important others jobs fears old memories emerging hope
And more, but even more we listen for what is unsaid cannot be said
But can be heard with long silences forgiving smiles and knowing nods
There remains a separation but there is also, for now, shared becoming
A beginning to be. It takes time, we finish with brandy older than me.