Forty years off

After 47 years a group of teenage friends meet. They were close. They stare. Will the gaps be skipped over and the eyes stare into known hearts? Which heart shall I vest into their fountains? My sins? My prides? My loves? My selfishness? My questions? My envy? Which questions shall I ask now with answers acknowledged which I then did not? That Bill and Dick would acknowledge their homosexuality and fly away to be free. They are back for this weekend of getting together. Then, back to London, one. The other, to the silent solitude. Shall we boast of our children, our grandchildren? Or relive our deaths? Or just inhale the minted seashore spring, clap, and then forgive each other. Just as the Merciful will, a few years hence, in each of our deaths?