(Note: Poems beginning March 20, and some in April, 2019, deal with grief. Return to writings prior to March for poems of a different nature.)
In honor of the moment you were gone
the river stopped running for a second—
the surging water stopped, and had to wait
to course through the channel toward its fate—
and then your spirit sailed, and stars beckoned.
A river that’s as certain as the sun
that rises above it every morning—
paused—incomprehensible and brief,
and the moon hid behind a cloud in grief,
and blue became the color of our mourning.
Impossible—a huge river halting?
No more so than a world without you.
Both events just cannot be imagined.
Only in our hearts can such things happen,
where sure as you are gone, it must be true.
And so the river flows and finds its way,
and as you chart your journey by the stars
we’re soothed by the murmur of the waves,
and needn’t fear the shadow of the grave.
We’ll find you by the river, never far.
In memory of a life lived in full, on the banks of the historic Detroit River and its tributaries.
