For a Friend: R. I. P.
It’s nearly five years since you left
heralded by the promise of sun
still beneath the December horizon
but soon to rise in full radiance
lighting the path of your journey out.
Wherever that out is, you are there.
The drama of grieving done, I
approach that same threshold
without fear, only trust, and mini-
mum curiosity, knowing I must work
while I have the light. Soon enough night
will come, and then no work will be
done. Is that how it is for you: Done?
Or are the stories of busy saints true?
Is the absence of clocked time a boon
that allows you to do what you will
for “hours” on end? Come back to the
desk, I tell myself. Pick up the pen
and work on the poems. Honor her
and her work by doing your own.