what is he to be?
what is he now to be, here?
but not here with me?
maybe kingmaker,
reasonable whisperer
in the ears of fate?
maybe dragonfly,
the majestic surveyor
of all the ripe greens?
maybe a shepherd,
the stoic walking figure
among flocks of time?
a fragrant river,
the carrier of colors
cast by Mother sun?
some everlasting -
some ever-gold ray of good,
flung to all corners?
crescendo in dreams
of a mother left to weep
into her empty?
maybe the warm strum
of fingers on quiet strings,
the sound a cloud makes?
or darkness removed
from another boy's night dreams
when he's all alone?
in eternity
the white-naked flowering
on celestial shores?
or a separate tree,
my father's favorite lone birch,
now that Mum has gone?
what is he to be?
what is he now to be, here?
but not here with me?
the answers are warm,
when you cast your eyes outward
looking for questions.
no one understands
the sting of love lifted fast
and its harping pain.
but i choose to think
that we all abridge this age
to become ageless.
that we are scattered
among the finest of good,
and light many souls.
i suspect it's grand
whatever he chose he chose
and wonderfully went:
whole of everything,
whole of everything at once,
is what he shall be.
