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