One more I honor and pray will not be the last,
This poem, your day, awakenings to more days
Filled with complaints, facts, lies, jokes and sighs
Those last with mortal grimace and existential pain–
And celebrations.
No one fills your place, not before or after,
None who sits just where you do in my house,
Or my car, no one quite like you who inherited and grew
status, class, gender, race, trait, stance and ethnicity.
You made me.
One day you will unmake me just like the sun and earth,
My fiery Death whose smoke will awaken the ravens
Loosen charred Regret and Steam, neither life companions
On my walk, my rise and fall, blossom and decay, my stain
After you.
In the gaze of the other 