twig.

 
 
               did you see?

that small hardly-seen twig and leaf, and I like to think, flower,
that’s the way I remember you.   so slight.   some say filler.

       I say not full without.   beloved.
 
 
like walking to the beach through the dunes.   barely given sight,
this minor green and brown, not the center of anything I think to
see.   and once past, forgotten face.   yet here, of this fog, the first reveal seen far miles from home.   and so I write.   because.

recalled, there’s a certain color, a flavor of seeing.
       there, that’s how I am remembering you.

glad unreasonably, reading you.   I smile at the thought.
 
this world would be more nothing without your color being here.
 
 
 
     for Pádraig Ó Tuama we say this.
 
 

a universe.

 
 
we are the middle of it, the universe.   we are the boundary line,
the membrane between two infinities.   inside and the other side.

one half of everything is everything.   odd, isn’t it.

     bigger than a breadbox, we’re sure of that.
 
 
 

a rock will remember me.

 
 
this would suffice.   when time is ripe, put my name on a small stone.
walk me into the countryside, some trail only rarely visited.   place me
there beside the trail, resting with earth, facing sky.

random folk may walk right beside.   never know.   we were this close.
     just like real life.

your good company.