It is the middle of April
Michael
Nearing the month of
May
The memory I hold
Has us on the beach
Sand under our bare
Feet
Watching the sun descend
Behind the Santa Monica
Mountains
Clothing all we see
In the glory of
Sundown

Now
Is the middle of April
Again
Fifty some years have
Passed
Michael is gone
My children    themselves
Are grandparents
My Beloved and I
In a place
Michael never visited
Never had been

Yet
When April is halfway to
May
Michael     my childhood
Friend      returns
With sand under our
Bare feet
As we stand watching the sun
Descend
Behind the Santa Monica
Mountains
Clothing all we see
In the glorious colors of
Sundown