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