On the Death of a Very Old Friend

 

There's a poem that flows before speaking,

and a knowing before you can think.

There's a body inside this body of flesh

which is nectar too sweet to drink.

There's a breath too soft to be taken,

yet it sings in each petal and leaf,

and it threads your heart to my distant star,

and it cannot be broken by grief.



Photo: Kristy Thompson