THE THINNESS OF A SHADOW

From the very last time
I saw you

to the story
of your death

unable to comprehend
that you do not exist

you to me
are living yet.

You an early morning
silhouette

looking at clouds
as was your want

a living
breathing entity

every moment now made more
precious than the last

I hold you so
in thought

refusing to let you go.

And so it is
always so.

Your footstep as you
cross the floor

whistling Wish
you were here.

The story of your death
I refuse to believe in

as if it happened
to a someone else.

Another Brian.
Not mine.

You stepping through the door
so full of light

stepping through time
"Come on Bud...I gotta go!"

Your death
the shibboleth

I can not utter.

You forever always
this

early morning

silhouette.