We met when we were older, when we had more swagger, and we stood a little closer to the throne.
But we had a falling out between us, we’re artists, and we’re awkward, this is widely known.
The fault was all mine, that’s what I’ve been told, but it could have been yours and yours alone.
Years went past, we lost too much, loved ones, and our youth, a wife, and a home.
There’s no point blaming each other now, we’re brothers, and anyway, our conflict was overblown.
So today we stand here side by side and harvest the morning colors from the intertidal zone.
This was the shore that shaped your soul, the same but different to the one that shaped my own.
So at noon oh two and not a minute later we’ll drink down our beers and let our differences sink like a stone.
I could go on about it but the next beer’s getting warm and we’re near the end of this poem.
By night we’re half-drunk on the edge of a cliff, what the hell and how far can our troubles be thrown.
So I’ll leave it at this, you clear-eyed disaster and paint flinging bastard, my respect for you it has grown.
It’s not a secret at all, it’s friendship, it’s clear, like gin in a jar, so drink deep and don’t go it alone.
*Dedicated to my buddy Spencer Reynolds, who showed me this spot and brought the beers.