Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Oh Moon So Bright


Still I can see you
in the eye of my mind,
 lying on the bed of your death.
You were eleven, I was twelve,
and we had entered
an unknown land. 
You were there but not with us,
breath receding,
eyes closed, heavy-lidded,
as your distraught mother spooned cereal
down your throat.
“How can he swallow
 if he’s asleep?”  I asked,
and she said:  “It’s automatic.”
The flame that had leapt
high as the sky
was guttering out,
and when I learned, the next day,
of your passing,
I threw myself on my bed, crying
as I never had before,
 great racking sobs.
Oh friend of my childhood,
still I can see you
in the eye of my mind,
your smiling face
beaming bright as the sun,
running and playing,
 calling me forth
to do the same,
to be the keeper
 always, forever,
 of my flame.