For Randy Henry, whose hopeful tomorrows come at the expense of painful todays. We suffer with you, dear brother.

And like the flowers dry and few

in dust, unveiled in sidewalk cracks,

these words may just, in part, renew

the seasons spent like melted wax.

* * *

The silences of friends remain

the best of words in time of spoil.

Their tender glances probe the pain

absorbing tears, and sharing toil.

* * *

This gruesome tear upon your soul,

it’s lancing gash no mercy knows.

But fill again this gaping hole

with wholeness, robust summer rose.

* * *

So now embark, dear friend, once more

to journey’s end, a start to find.

‘Tis here we stand on healing, sure

of hope ahead, and loss, behind.