All I wanted today was
to drop into another chair
and stare at a ceiling.
All of us stood out in the after-
noon. Standing among
so much green and life,
while a single violin played
off to one side,
casting its strings like ropes whenever the sky
seemed to ripple.
My friend had
never come back from the sea
(I tried not to look across it today).
The two of us used to whistle things,
whether imitating birds or the vibrato
He told me once how amazed he was
at so many timbres, low pulses, high suites,
harmonies telling stories.
His voice had a kind of hardened ring
I have only heard since in the tower bells
at 2 A.M.
Andrew Brady is currently a senior at the University of New Hampshire in Durham, studying English. His work has recently appeared in the school’s literary magazine, Aegis, for which he has also worked as an editor.