Mr. E

Though it has been said before, you’re in every poem I write:

you whisper true wise ‘-isms,’ your yellowing laughter slides.

Half-smile singing at your lips, you can spin sweet milk from ice,

aphorisms like perfect chords; decades pass, and you abide.


Come the wild, wild weather and the hateful parsing of hearts,

It’s your arms I still follow, through the rise and soar and swell.

Before I could speak my truth, you deciphered it in parts

Listening to you, I knew: life is hell in an eggshell.


When I was weeping lilacs, you thought me an evening rose,

and because you trusted me, finally I learned to trust.

With your warm, tremulous voice and vision beyond rainbows;

think how many lives you’ve saved, threading music from our dust.


All the hearts you have directed sing a canon, even now:

may the road rise up to meet you, til you take your final bow.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s