hollow
is my heart
as i
wonder why
the fucking sky
won't start
to weep
an admonition at the fates
in somber recognition
of the wretched devastation
and universal harm
in the loss of such a man;
of such kindness, grace, and charm;
at the emptiness of space
where this gentle giant stood.
on stage and page he towered,
he made the mediocre good
and the good, he made divine
with an eruditely crafted line.
had setbacks, but never soured.
instead he softly chuckled
at some dirty joke
then took it only as he could
to make an eloquent bon mot.
authentic, real, and raw;
he knew what others did not know.
he saw what others never saw.
he made a symphony of words
and he played it for us all
as we would raptly listen
in adoration and in awe.
i listen for his echos
in the chasms of my grief.
that he is gone
is so unjust
it beggars belief.
