I am holding a congress for my friends.
A large hall with extra chairs,
because no one is excluded.
I left notices everywhere saying,
dear friend, please come to the congress.
Then I threw them in the sky
to be airmailed over fences,
by strawberries at the market,
under the bright edge of the door
at night.
I wrote some on napkins,
under wine opening its eyes in a glass.
I telegraphed calls down lanes,
open streets, to parks and shores,
wherever friends might be, have gone.
I threw bottles by the dozen
into the sea,
along the shore,
from ferry boats and canoes.
Who knows where life has taken them.
I left notes by graves,
near rocks, holes of trees,
for the so inclined.
I was catholic in my choice of friends.
All shapes and sizes,
ordinary, extraordinary,
sane or off.
I loved them all,
and so many.
All I could do was call out
on windy days,
names that came out yelling
from my heart.
Dear friends who I loved,
was in love with,
who let me smile
thinking of them before my sleep.
Encountering them in my dreams,
watching their faces fade from sight
when I woke.
Come to my congress.
World leaders of my world.
World makers of my happiness.