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To a Dying Friend
by Carole Bugge
At the concert, the woman in the soft pink sweater sits two rows in front of me
her thin, sharp shoulders slice the air like blades
Mouse fuzz hair clings to her head in wisps like swirls of grey cotton
cheeks stained brown from radiation
Yet she is here, in this grand room with its glistening carved banister
the elegant French windows overlooking Fifth Avenue
She is here and you are not
What do we do when courage fails,
when mortality rises and swells in our body like an evil tide?
What do we say when the taste of sea is sharp on our tongue
and the boat stays no longer on the shore
compelled by the increasing gale to set sail
Onstage, the young music student caresses the piano keys like a lover
the notes rise and swell and speak of immortality
his life lies ahead of him, open and wide as a field of yellow wheat
If I could but wrap you in a cocoon of notes,
keep you safe and warm before the music stops
The journey lies ahead of us all
but you must set sail now
while I remain ashore
You, nearly pure spirit now, your flesh burned away
God speed and fair winds be with you, my friend
as your soul rises and swells
becoming one with land and sea and sky
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