and to his beloved family]
I'm Alexander, he said, a simple poet using simple words
the ones they've left behind. the stranded ones I thought
that glint like diamonds, a smile breaking into light a
rare handshake. compact, he was
an enemy of night, of bitterness,
meant to be such a glistening bird in a
tree of words that shone
and flitted from twig to twig as if it could always be
only daylight. how soon how soon to leave, whatever for?-
our slow and dawning comprehension that the light we show
in earnest conversation is the only light sometimes we know
on earth; down the colorless hallways cold or on
unfeeling streets in the deep freeze of words
not really meant, he blazed.
Alexander.a king's name, well deserved,
was struck from behind while
loading garbage on a city truck, mid-morning on a Wednesday
in the City of the Arts
while the sun wept, didn't it? wouldn't it?
a week before Thanksgiving and another birthday sown.
in stable but serious condition the newsprint bled.
he lingered a week;then he was gone.
Linger in Heaven now where hard words
melt before the diamond furnace God keeps bright
for earth's, hard winter's saints.
o find your place in the house of poets,
house of the great who realized
that heartfelt words and unchained joys are best
well used until worn out
not only for Company reserved, for the festive occasion.
in the language of our sighs turned into summers. Rest.
compact and brief may the grief of those who loved you
be, surely to meet you later, unafflicted, among the stars
and still intact and vital as the sun where you:
mary angela douglas 5 january 2015