We talked just once on the phone
I, the hopeful poet,
you, established and acknowledged,
friendly, kind and encouraging.
I sensed a happy person.
Like a clear stream,
you sparkled and flowed
over life’s sharpness and mud,
polishing rough to smooth
and quenching dry to moist,
water-strong and water-pure.

We talked of wanting to,
yet never met.
Now I regret
that I let
our “should meet� slip away.

After your passing,
words poured from your soul mate
about your lost radiance
and creative, intelligent mind.
Your absence must have left,
near ones very bereft.

Time will bleed raw grief dry.
Then ears begin to hear Life again.
Your spoken and written words,
and images from your poems
will rise to echo,
to ricochet and tease
remembering and new minds,
like a tinkling wind chime
laughing in the gentle breeze.