Poem: Perfect Timing

The bizarre circumstance of death in the French Alps and a frozen re-emergence.

Perfect Timing It’s true, two climbers lost in glacier ice in France And the French are not a culture to forget It’s true, friends gathered on each anniversary of their death Came together at the wall of ice and lit candles It’s true, the fourth year, holding hands and memories before this blue wall The lost were lost no more, appearing, three feet in It’s true, perfect frozen friends come to their own party all but shaking hands Four years to this bizarre arrival . . . perfect timing It’s true, but what does it mean not to be found randomly or lost forever But arriving, as though in time for tea and looking out as friends look in It’s true, there is no message here or all messages gaze back from this blue ice I’m not so sure myself and wonder what you make of it

This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection BROKEN PIECES available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats.