I am sorry for your loss, I offer this in comfort.
We are not here, but once,
and yet that once
is all the tears shed riding in the rain, but not alone
beside them
friendships voice would listen in the hiss of tires
whose presence was enough.
It is the call whose ring tone made you reach
to talk through evening hours,
yet in those hours, you were not there
you were in the hills, the spinning sleet of sunlight
or minding gears with grease and tools familiar as your hands
and each of you a third hand for the other.
It is the broken things, that catch at parting.
What should have, might have been,
but do remember him, as someone who knew you.
Knew in the grime of fingernails,
the taste of life flowing,
and now within the once.