April in a petal (in memoriam)

You keep pace with me walking

alongside you tippling helpless

in the snow-melt drink running

downstream with flood vengeance,

not like April’s usual for this narrow

brook a youngster could jump over.

I know the tree you fell from, from

the blooming magnolia I just passed

upstream, the tree I’ve known these

many years, every spring outdone by

the spread and sprawl of blooming

daffodils on display for the annual fest.

You’re there, then not, gone in a blink.

Looking back, I spot you on a flat rock

brookside, laid out without a shroud, in

indigo, speaking to me only, louder than

meadows of sun-yellows – always will.