I think of it as the day before the storm.

Looking back through the pages of that summer

That is where it falls, a muggy day on the lake,

Mooring the pontoon at the pier, stepping off the deck

With the line, seeing Tom waiting. We hadn't 

Seem each other in a long time, since we were

On the cusp of leaving home, for good, for bad.

He looked at me, and I him. I could see the him

In him, but he couldn't see the me in me, 

Not for a while. I laughed, his expression was telling.

It wasn't only my gray hair, the heavier face, 

Not that alone; more, it was the weight of fatherhood,

And finances, and though I could see the him in him,

The manhattans had taken a toll, as they will.

That night, over manhattans and gin and tonic,

Sapphire for me, we talked and ate and it came back,

The stories, the mutual connections, and 

We became ourselves again, boys and old men at once.

The next day the storm came and we were worried

When his brother, my friend, went missing on the lake.

It turned out alright, but Tom was shaken, and 

He didn't like the lake anyway. It made his nervous,

This proximity to family and friends. He had to bolt.

I understood. I understand. When it came time

To say goodbye we stood facing one another, uncomfortable

With the impending intimacy, though not for long.

I've lost all semblance of shyness. I wrapped

My arms around him and said, you're my brother,

And he, without thinking, said, you're my brother.

But we are not brothers, and we may never see

Each other again, not unless another chance encounter

Comes along. And if it does, what will we talk about?

The old times are too distant to matter, we don't care.

Our families, our weights and worries, our successes?

What successes? Best that we leave it as we did, brothers,

Deeply in love, as brothers, who are not, and never were, brothers.