for H. Gene Murtha
you cant fire a gun at it. it wont die that way. i am not religious. never saw the point. and yet his cancer spreads. it must know that the success it has in him means the end of it. but it cant stop itself. when a poet dies the poetry remains. on the page but still full of whatever life you had right up to the end.
the further i fall into sadness the stronger the memories become. strangely i find solace in the sharp focus this pain creates in my mind. it is as if i can see through the veils of the universe. and there you are with a hint of a smile as your eyes slowly close. as if you were listening to Miles as his trumpet fades. hanging on to that last note.
i can see you
only in my mind
First published in Haibun Today!