An inner voice prompts me
with a line or a couplet
and insists I finish the job.
In a fluster I strive
to remember the words,
repeating them over again.
When you passed I imagined
the eulogy, exactly what I’d say.
The world is vast,
you traveled its corners,
as you did the rooms of the heart;
you were best though
in a timeless place,
unbounded, untethered, unleashed.
As death anchored these words
to my soul and my being
there was no need to remember:
they were you wherever I was.
I discovered truth in your passing,
forgive me that it came so late.
© Chagall, 2013
