Visions upon visions,
dreams and dreams,
lost, stolen, taken; gone.
Poets with their poetry of loss,
compete to buff out the latest cracks;
futile puffery, all of it.
Nothing will compare to that gift,
a small click of connection,
the implausibility; the impossibility – that would turn it into the last…
Hope solidified, flat and stark, into knowledge,
that love now lies in the breath of angels,
until we all finally, maybe even wholly, see again.
A few coins laid across the past,
a final gesture of love,
the only one left that could be made in his name.
January 17, 1997 – January 1, 2020