The Gentle Sway of Death

           (FOR IAN SMITH)

How could you disappear so suddenly

slipping away in the night without telling us your plans

leaving us here, bewildered,

staring numbly at the space you filled?

How should we accept

that there’s no way of tracking you down

and bringing you back, to face your responsibilities?

How should we accept

that the sprawling mansion of your life

with all its secret passages and winding halls

and all the rooms you let us share

has vanished overnight with no trace left

almost as if it never stood?

But underneath the sadness there’s a strange elation

a sympathetic joy.

I can sense a gentle sway

like the swell of water from a ship far away:

somewhere around me, invisible,

your consciousness is dissolving

your identity is slowly spreading

the single static point of you is melting

like ice into the ocean.

And I can sense your amazement

at this journey you never expected

your look of awestruck ecstasy

as you pass through

on your way to everything.