I see you standing on sand,
during one of our desert trips,
among tiny spring blooms and shrubs,
wearing your inevitable hat,
a long, thick braid hanging down your well-matched
shirt and belted pants. I have lit candle after candle
since you passed, holding my photo of you,
sending you wishes on this unexpected journey,
which you had not anticipated when last we talked
only a few days ago. I was happy you remembered
our friendship, despite the winter threats
of which you accused yourself. May you be free.
May you have ease beyond that beyond
about which we so often wondered.
Gudrun Mouw (c)