Sarah Zale

For Terry

(1954-2005)

You’re missing this

the rise of light from the bay
on this gray morning
the way a pale stone greets rain.
With the years it gets harder
to see the small things
the good things the seeming
miracles like how an ant
can forge footed meters across
a crowded room
arrive safe.

You were the color of a new sun
at the horizon the color of
not yet and of yet again
with a faint blush confessing
your sense of self
as warning.

You wore words
on your hip like a gun
silent holstered ready
as lyrics like a stream
through a surrendering hand
kept you sane. At dusk
when no one is watching
you walked the streets
your mind with one
in the chamber the safety
off as chords eddied
in your mind trying
to move on.

I always thought it was music
that would take you.

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