painted poem #14/21
for Bodhi (aka Bob Henrie)
He slipped out while none of us was looking, our chancellor emeritus of the back road. Made his exit en route among strangers and angels—his closest kin.
When the body arrived in the flashing red hubbub of ER, it was already empty. Empty as the night would be with its owl sailing through it.
Empty as the morning with its pale yellow light, and the breakfast nook where he shuffled his kings and queens.
Each of us were left to make what sense of it we could. But alone in our private precincts, I don’t think anybody could.