In the fourth watch
Of the night
He left us
When we got the call,
You need to come.
His death.
This is what I think,
Today,
Holding the threads of memory,
Experience, and mystery.
He did not leave unannounced,
Was simply unburdened,
Lifted, I imagine,
The dark hours he swallowed
No longer visible.
He died in his sleep on Sunday, resurrection day,
Surely as he wished.
We smile,
Knowing it had been 40 days.
That'll preach,
As will many things.
I was a witness that cool, dark morning,
His body stretched out on that bed,
Regal in his poverty,
A gentle spirit returning home.
I am not looking for infinite reminders,
Only the particulars of him,
His face. His hands. The shape of his body.
His smile.
Nothing hidden or dimmed,
This is what I fill my arms with.
In memory
by Mike Martin
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