You told us once, goodbyes,
held reason for acquaintances,
but friends cross all distances.
Now here we are, still casting shadows
under this fasting sun, and you
have sailed the seasons.
We knew how the long blades of summer,
that grew by your path
hardened in the brittle heat,
cut your ankles, your feet;
and how the late winter snows that blew
at night, past your ice-white curtains,
heaved you, back into,
deep frozen ruts.
What we didn’t see, was what you took to be,
your final dream, gutter out like a day moon,
to send you tumbling in the wind.
But know this:
no final chaos can uncreate,
your seven thousand sea-green suns,
your countless dawns in our accounted hearts,
nor the streams of kindness in your eyes,
that carried off the laws of time,
nor your light and laughter,
that made us by our meetings richer.
Further on we’ll know your absence
as the masquerade it is,
we’ll see your smile upon these shores,
your footprints outside our doors.
But here in your wake,
we still ache,
to remember you.
This past weekend my daughter and other dear friends of Lou Veillard gathered in a park to remember her.