You know me better than anyone.

Time holds onto my heart,
rests within my mind.

You are the silence around me.

Walking, my world is larger, as
details present themselves.

Hard, inedible berries redden
beautifully in that same garden.

Delicate stalks bow slightly,
preparing for their lavender
blossoms, a little smaller
than last year’s.

You, really listen, and that is
nearly everything to me.

Everything, would be you
trusting me, to listen too.

Our beloved poet brother,
light warrior, musician,
has gone on ahead of us  
into the realms of light.

Fierce, funny, loving,
you redefined courage
as you battled your final
foe. He didn’t really win,
because you shine evermore.

Even as we celebrate
your beautiful life,
knowing you are free,
our hearts still ache
and we miss you, being
here, on Earth, amongst us.

I am here connecting with the soil,
with the smallest suggestion
of a breeze,
before the day’s heat hits.

Across an ocean, we were
to have met again, had
you been there, my friend.

Now, we do our best
to be where are.

Across the bare wooden floor,
new leaves dance shadows
onto the dark green Roman blinds.

Whatever is poet within
me, in this time of hurdles,
Issues from my mind
as images, mute.
Gazing directly back at
you, intimate, silent.
Speaking into your own
apertures, inviting contact.

A love like this,
perhaps it isn't made
for mundane living.

I can still feel
the texture of your
deep yellow shirt
as I held you in my arms,
sleeping your holy sleep.

At the very centre of my fingertips,
I can still feel the sense
that I am holding life itself,
that I am holding - Infinity.

Green and new as emerging plant life,
vaster than the velvety immensity
of this Icelandic night.

Steaming, pale pink, moments ago
these rosebuds were sleeping, dried, unfragrant.

Now, like a single paper flower that blossoms from within
its scrubbed clam shell, held together lightly, then opening slowly
in its requisite, tall, crystalline glass of water,
these tiny buds are softening, unfurling, reviving,
intoxicating me with this heady, womanly scent, and
moistening my face as I lean over this healing brew you sent for me.

Born of humans, linked to me by human blood and a shared, ancient selkie ancestry,
wise, beautiful, deep eyes, flowing dark hair, blessings pour forth from you
in all, and every moment, of your gentle, earnest, worshiping life.

Kinswoman to my open heart,
to our ceaseless inquiries into sacred mysteries,
your power to transform finds me
wherever I am.

Coming from your humble and holy
houses each morning bringing blessings, your lively and
cheerful "Good Morning!" sounds - all the power and energy
that a good life brings. Living by the light God gives you
every day, eschewing electricity,
and all of the worst that it brings with it,
teaching your children and loving your wives
with gentleness and devotion.

Ruben, Glen David, Marlin... did I spell these right?

I only heard your beautiful, traditional names in your own, clear, grounded voices,
as we began to know each other, while you travelled back
and forth, from bright and early each day, onto our ailing roof.

Tearing into four layers of old, sickly roofing tiles with your
wonderful vim and vigour, a healing began that went deep,
deeper every day, as we absorbed the precious fortune
of having you in our midst. Your chosen, Amish lives inspired
us, and still do, as we still, quite often, hear the echoes
of your footsteps above us, each one a prayer and an affirmation
of lives well-lived.

One fine afternoon, one of you stood straddling the very top of our
steep old roof line, and that image of a man mastering his craft,
invested in a life that blesses everyone he cares for,
and teaches by example, everyone he meets,
will stay with me for all of my days.