(Note: At the airport, flying to see a dear friend in Hospice…then at the Gate, word came in that he had just passed away.)
Airport skies heavy, dark.
Embarking planes rise, and
so dies and rises
my dear friend and brother.
The rain will come behind these tears.
Brokenhearted tears; grateful tears:
His fears of endless awful life
allayed by a final breath.
Keeping death close.
And weeping at the Seattle/Tacoma Gate,
a perfect, fated synchronicity.
Airport anonymity.
Tears at the A-12 Gate,
this gateless Gate,
this gone beyond:
Gate gate paragate
parasamgate.
Bodhi svaha,
My old friend.
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