* * *

For the one I hardly knew. Forgive me, I don’t know what else to do…

Today I read the last words you ever wrote:

it was a diary of your feelings

& your last poem…

You wrote so beautifully about the sky between

sentences expressing a tiredness so deep

you just wanted to die.

Knowing I failed to help you lift your head

more often; to help ease your burden;

to love you as you deserved to be.

Now there is no way to say sorry

& stay with you in that other world

you wrote of in you last poem,

one you wrote for me…

despite being only another drunk,

an idiot, rare & wild only to you,

yet even I could see with these

eyes of “ever changing colour”

how delicately, intricately woven you were

before your threads

fell away.

on the wind