Looking Through Photographs

On this clear summer afternoon
I wonder where my old friends have gone.
The people I once considered companions,
who travelled through life with me and kept my secrets.
Do they keep them still
or have they been forgotten altogether?
Only history remembered can be written down and documented,
and it's this intimate history,
between friend and friend,
I no longer make.

Instead, I watch a group of birds
flutter in summershade.
Everyone else has left.
The sun is hidden behind a cloud.
The bloomed trees hide home from home.
And I wonder where my old friends have gone,
and when I'll fill the void they've left.