It's easy to forget that we are all perfect in our own design. Sometimes we muck it up with habits and choices that do not serve us.
Already someone is asking
who you were. And I well up.
I reach for your long life and all
you did. But it’s all you touched
that can’t be put into words. Twenty
years ago, when I was troubled and
confused, you took my hand firmly
and said, “You steward a force of
nature within you. Honor it and
trust it.” Later, you led me to the
plateau between all that is good
in us and all the harm we do. You
stood there between the eternal light
and the eternal dark and said, “Come,
look with me into the heart of things.”
But you always returned to walk the
earth, lending your strong hands to
all who came your way. I want so
much to speak about the force of
nature you were. The kind stranger
is waiting. And I can only point to
who you were, like a child pointing
to the moon. I stutter and simply
say, “He was such a good man.”
This poem is from my book in progress, Where All the Questions Live.
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