For Galway Kinnell
Sitting at a red light
in the darkness
of the early morning;
the slow lifting
of daybreak
as the awkward light
tries to awaken
my senses.
My brain still throbbing
from the migraine
which rudely greeted me
upon my cessation of slumber,
a harbinger of the turmoil
my soul had been wrestling
the day before with a patients
premature demise.
Preparing for another day
on the oncology wards:
healing few
and attempting
to return a few more
to health.
I hear your name
spoken on NPR
and my breath catches,
as I learn
that you have taken your final breath;
thankfully, at home,
nestled in that place
of wholeness
and family.
Your voice streams
in tribute
as you read
your enigmatic
words
with a syntax
and cadence
that takes me back
to Portland, Oregon
where we met just once
over blackberries and Nightmares.
Your death
though not unexpected
yea' as an octogenarian,
still comes
as a gut-blow -
to a young poet,
who found your work
to be at the heart
of life, love, and growth.
Your words
are eternal,
a legacy
for those of us
who lived them
and breathed them
in youth,
and return to them
to comfort
our hearts
and push us
to put pen to paper
and fingers to keyboards.
