Caliper

(for Brian)

"The cemetery expands its borders—
little milky crosses grow like teeth.
How kind time is, altering space
so nothing stays wrong; and light,
more new light, always arrives.”
[Spencer Reece, “At Thomas Merton’s Grave”]


What instrument do we use
to measure the capacity
of one’s character to
absorb loss?

The lies we live with
slide smoothly down the rule
only when the points
take & hold, without
slipping.

Then one day the beam breaks:
& every measurement is off.

------

I thought I'd always measure loss
on the little silver Mezurall
my father left in a drawer
(for me?)

It's in another drawer today,
(I kept it in a pocket for a while)
but I should have known:

Its length was never going to be enough.

-----

Your sister let each of us who were to carry you pick a pair of your socks from a plastic bag on the day we buried you. I chose Da Vinci’s calibrated man with his legs stretched into a pace that I'd never be able to keep.

-----

A life is lived on a hinge
that swings between eras
of unequal lengths & depths.

Sometimes it is a simple wind
that turns the gate between identities.

Then, again, storms destroy
what seemed so likely to stand,
so solid,so protected,
so easily measured.

When things finally settle again
& what’s left is gathered:
there is usually enough
to build the world again.

But once the rule is broken:
the measurements will
never again be exact.

Everybody’s Friend

Brian at Inspiration Point, Grand Canyon N.P. 1997

[for B. J. H. ]

“But, my brother, don’t let your lantern darken…”
     [Bryan John Appleby, “The Lake”]

This morning, driving south, out of

the hazy black of a once full moon,

the east sent up a glory of amber

orange, pink, purple, & finally all blue.

I thought of you, but you were already

there in my mind as the morning’s music

suggested struggle, pain, & yet tenacity, too,

the quality most evident behind your modesty.

Just as the universe holds together its parts,

& the wheels of my car handle the swift turns

of a morning’s commute, a magnetism pulls us

for our own good towards you for strength & stability.

There you are, everybody’s friend, holding us up

without raising a finger, but painfully curving

a grimace into an unaffected smile:  the brilliance

of generosity that gives & gives, never running out.

Tonight as I drive the same road back home,

arriving before that same sun sets in similar glory,

I’ll still be thinking of you there, family gathered close

hoping, somewhere, there is a light that never goes out.

I’ll save some last thoughts, as always, before sleep

comes & removes the day’s small sufferings & joys.

I’ll say to whomever might be listening that there

is a man, a brother, who helps hold a world together.

I’ll say: his love needs some more time to give.