Voice from the Mist

In the car

I heard it

twenty-two years

ago

and it fit

like a glove

how it hurt

but it already hurt

so the song

was a friend

close to the heart

so close it became

part

and when that piece

broke off

I left it on the road

somewhere

in the dark

in the mist

myself an unfinished

list

tossed . . .

but tonight --

I heard it again: 

the sad, brave cry

of a bosom friend,

tormented song long estranged

speaking now

of then.