Drinking with the Dead

As the mighty sun settles
beneath the river horizon
a knock at my door awakens
ringing no bells and enters
for time that had no wait
for thing that was never lost
prayers of eulogy never spoken
pots of memory never broken
perpetual meetings this seems
and for the rest of my life
hands in hands we lay and
eyes speak with eyes
and there i am
drinking with the dead
the ferry soul i lost few decades ago
nights i am entitled to
days i am without her...