Goodbye My Dear Friend


He goes free of the earth.

The sun of his last day sets
clear in the sweetness of his liberty.

The earth recovers from his dying,
the hallow of his life remaining
in all his death leaves.

Radiances know him. Grown lighter
than breath, he is set free
in our remembering. Grown brighter
than vision, he goes dark
into the life of the hill
that holds his peace.

He’s hidden among all that is,
and cannot be lost.

Wendell Berry

 

Nearness

Tim
seeks me
in the garden

small
white
butterfly

always
hovering
nearby

Ghost
that I glimpse
from the side of my eye

Darting through blossoms
resting on leaves
taking advantage of sunshine and breeze

Pointing out a shapely cloud
waiting on my mailbox
inquisitive antenna cocked

Reminding me
as mortality
rages on

death
is not
the final stop.

Tim Mann, dear friend and fellow traveler,
you are remembered.