our friend's birthday
was today.
how long has it been, i ask.
he says maybe fifteen,
maybe twenty years. neither of
us knowing
the date.
we say nice things about him.
he was such a perfectionist,
we laugh.
i tell him about the time
he held a party,
and i
moved each picture hung on the walls
of his house
and inch to the left, pointing
downward.
and how he called me and said.
i knew it was you.
i saw the smile on your face when
you left.
our last words
before his death.
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