In Memory of A.C.


I

He disappeared in the heat of summer:
The lakes lie low, the gardens sat thirsty,
And fire engulfed the east;
The embers fizzled in the eyes of the dying night.
What memories we have agree,
The night of his death was a long dark night.

II

I met you in my youth,
Pre-pubescent, wild-eyed, and a dreamer.
I thought you might be Santa Claus,
Your laugh was a dead ringer.
Your kind words of understanding,
Have followed me o’er the year.
Out of all the words of wisdom,
Only two are stuck with me here.
You spoke them whenever we parted,
I never left without thinking twice
These weren’t just words of wisdom,
But future fatherly advice.
Ones you’d say to a friend,
Someone you are going to miss,
Letting them know this isn’t the end,
That the friendship will always exist.
So for now till that day
When we meet again somewhere
It’ll never be, “Goodbye”
It will always be, “Take Care”.

III

After first hearing my poetry you compared it to Auden’s
A lofty and flattering comparison,
Your favorite and mine.
Two poetic souls, survivors of that Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart.
An almanac of poetry and prose you would eventually pass on to me;
In the most perfect of moments.
And now, as I finish its final page I come to know you better.
A poet’s heart is a poet’s heart:
Large, Crimson, and Scarred through trials and tribulations.
These Raised and Ragged Roadmaps leading to the center of self
A place where all true poetry lies awaiting to be awakened,
And I will again meet you there someday.

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