POEM FOR DARA

I.

Last year I wrote a poem
called “Wild Time” –

You, sitting in the field
the blossoming, wild thyme,
posing like a pyramid
limbs folded and your
beautiful, bare head
bobbing against the air.


II.

Last year I wrote a poem
called “Paper Folding” –

You had no strength
to make the cuts and creases
still, all crevices were clear:
arrows toward your comfort throne:
resting on the thinker’s couch,
while we led thinker’s walks.

III.

A loss is a loss is a loss
and others lost much more

I only knew you with that
heavy possibility
and legacy, the lightness
Josh took your hand in the movie theater
your cackle was profound
and bravery, beyond.