On Meeting an Old Friend

Photo by Donald Teel on Unsplash

The cold February sun
Warmed us on the other side
Of the glass and shined
On his whiskered face
Like sun through stubbled wheat
At harvesting time.
His years were harder than mine
Full of tension between
God and none.
(God lost)
His words were of
synchronicity, archetypes and collective unconscious.
(Jung would be proud)
The years wore heavy on his face,
But behind his worn and dropping visage,
My childhood friend
Looked back at me.