We rode the tram up to the hospital to see you today
over the backyard mosaic of soggy angels
darkened by noon time — daffodils witnesssed our passing though —
high over heavy wrinkled roofs
where no on slept under
so busy they were to look up;
but the sky mattered.
Then the long day froze
to see you lying there all scattered like dry leaves,
words choking you mute like gravel
one arm hanging, drifting where they un-wired you.
God, I’m glad you could smile a bit.
No more fishing.
No skirt chasing on the
long slope down to where it all started
by the shipyard, by the sink,
by the mother gone early
when everything was wild and hurting and new.
Christ, I wish we had one more
run up to Glacier Park
in the easy, easy radio summer

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