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Michael Shorb
For Ron Crozier
Thinking of you in this last
Mute posture, a Zen trickster
Stunned into silence,
Viking in a burning vessel of
Jibes and questions pushing out
Beyond the edge of water,
Leaving us with all the old riddles
Unresolved, all the bright thoughts
Gathered on the flanks of
Mountains like a herd of horses.
I remember the quest but not the goal.
I remember your hunger to know things,
Your love of verbal jousting,
The wry humor you wore like a wool sweater,
The steady river of jazz
That nourished us.
I leave a blessing you might, in life,
Have scorned, or at least questioned,
Fixing me with your twinkling gaze
To say, "Who blesses anyway?"
What leaves with the
Irresistible tide, and what remains.
Copyright (c) Michael Shorb, 2005. All rights reserved.
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