as we travelled across the river
to the island that you held so dear
i smiled in the st lawerence wind
i could feel that you were near.

and later on that night after the dance
i let go of my ghostly fears
as we visited your resting grave
and each gave you a beer.


driving to potters beach in the morning sun
on your grave i saw the cans all in a row
disapear in the dust from the dirt road
i smiled once again
for in my heart i knew you still grow.

as i stared at the water and sat in the sand
surrounded by the islanders
i knew you were there with us all
standing there among us
standing so proud and so tall

and i will tell you this before i go
when i think of how you were in life
one thing always will remain
the thought of your smile, always real, always true.
and how along with it, your eyes
well, john, they sparkled.
just like that river blue.

08/04/2004

Author's Note: this poem was written for my friend john cantwell. one of his favorite places was Grindstone Island, one of the precious islands in the Thousand Island region. the island is now his resting place. i visited recently and this poem was the result of my time there.

Posted on 08/04/2004
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