top of page
A Toast to a friend
By Barry Green
I raise my glass
filled with amber
to a friend who lived
only in sleep
who left for parts unknown
and never returned.
His life was the wavering light
on the hottest day
rising from the blacktop
a dream hiding behind a wall
stones piled high and thick
impenetrable
but soft like sand
a chimeric lullaby
floating
becoming ethos.
I drink to the memory
of a friend
who rode on a raven’s back
into his own sleep
and never returned.
Barry Green is retired and lives in Ashland, Virginia, where he writes poetry and short fiction and spends much time in his garden and the woods that surround it.
bottom of page