It’s still shocking
that he’s dead:
thirty years
since easy access by phone,
complaints
about his domestic scene
filled most
of the call, but also
gentle
encouragements,
occasional
conversations, questions,
observations
about his growing puzzlement
with what he
heard sitting on the church steps,
trying to
reconcile it
with his experience
of life
and what his
mathematical mind offered
as a
different path to truth.
The
disruption of his death
is less
decisive now, as though
he is
present in a quieter variation
of the way
he was in life –
occasionally
seen or heard,
known to be
there behind the stage
as we played
our roles.
The shock of
his death,
tempered by
time, is
a worn
pebble in the stream
a different
colour now to then.
No comments:
Post a Comment