Dom Joseph Poem by Terry Collett

I met you that first
time in 1968, after
the office of Compline;
and you took me into
the refectory and
brought me warm
macaroni cheese and
cocoa; we talked
during Grand silence.

That time in 1971,
you and I sat on the
abbey's beach with
Hugh, George and
Gareth in conversation,
we tossing those small
pebbles skimming
across those incoming
tides, and you smiled
your smile, while Gareth
talked of Wittgenstein.

The time I last saw you
in 1994, and talked and
you had grown old, and
you heard my confession,
blessed my new rosary,
I took your photograph;
I remember your soft laugh.

The parish priest told me
you had died just before
Mass; I sensed all those
memories of you and I
overwhelmingly flood me
and inwardly I cried.