When they cut out the tumor,
they took some of you with it.
But we were grateful because most of you remained.
You were still among us and we got to be with you.
They did not take your gentle spirit and the words tumbling forth
like a soothing stream after the rain.
They could not cut out the poetry from your brain.
So each year we listened and we were blessed.
Tomorrow never guaranteed,
each day and each new word from you a precious gift,
so quickly lost in a fall in the darkness.
Did you know we would find you in the night lying across the
broken sidewalk that brought you down?
Did you hear our songs and poetry as we gathered around your bed?
Did you hear us praying in a circle in the wooded place where you wandered and
where so many poems came to your head?
It makes me sad that I cannot hear the
wonderful words running through your mind.
But I know that they are there,
you softly whispering them into the ears of the Divine.
October 29, 2007