Windband Eulogy

It swells the brass in my heart. Funerary eulogy for a fallen earth-angel. The Death of Superman.

A man made spirit, Can I breathe him? A legacy of encouragement, And bearing witness.

We move on, And let Spring's colors mute, And open to Summer's flat expanse.

What is a man to do, Who could not find foothold in grey limestone Paris formless winter? Summer's still reprieve is green at least.

Walking, step by step, Paying month-to-month, Hoping to find space, For new image.

Getting to zero Return to Origin point. Looking up. The swell becomes trumpet call.

Focus pierces the habituated thought-field, Letting in air, finally! The breath is the beginning of heart song, What was swelled with emotion's inhale, Can take shape and sing out!

What do you want? Say it with sacred speech! Kindness and ambition, Peace on earth, and good will towards men: emanating from the center. Lightness and ease: ignorance's wilt. Given up: one billion contrived complaints from one billion confused folk. Taken up: each day's burden, lightly!

A cloudburst marks the departure of noontide exhaustion. The funerary march saunters out of the Temple and into the Sunset, Carrying with it: worries, fears, longing, messages of care, hopes to see again, acceptance of a chapter's close, the celebration of a what-once-was, a Brother's love, a Daughter's fidelity, a Son's patience, a Mother's unmatched living for others, a musician's duty to strangers, the strength of quiet men carrying anything asked,

Roll call for the atoned, A Fade, A second birth, A gift for the departed, That I cannot yet know.

Until then.