the music of what happens

Photo by Europeana on Unsplash

the music of what happens,

is now and then too loud, like boots
stomping on glass shards, or maybe 
too quiet, the gulf before grief
takes root. 

Would you prefer to never hear
the music again? But that’s life,
this countervoiced cacophony.

Today, lunch with an old friend
two-ways-old: our meeting
fifty-one years ago, and he’s
approaching ninety-four
The music of what happens
waters his eyes     no choice
it arises of itself
but the grace, his allowing
grace upon grace, my receiving