Free then. Cold. Feet in stream, dropped

my jade ring; broke and settled in

with our local distillations of magma, old

as rain from the Permian. Water wiggles

its way over and out these stones, wave

and particle both. Let it go, we said.

I’m sad you’re dead, that this

can’t be a letter to you, though maybe

it is. We drank from the same fountain

for a long time, dharma love. We sat

at the feet of the mountain

and it opened its deep spring. You

felt to me like steep narrow channel,

rushing water, molten gold, spit

and rapids contained. Virgo, virgo, virgo earth.

Present rain keeps us to our candles,

dark and sparkle, like you. Moon rises

plump and mundane. Someone razed

our house, built almost identical

one on spot, blue too. Passing by,

i have to remember it’s not really the same.

June 2009