my old friend bud was 100 years old yesterday.
if i dug through
his
ashes
i’d have to stare a very long
time for something

familiar


listen intensely to hear his violin.
i recognize his high, soft voice
lecturing upon
insect anatomy, pointing out pincers and stingers,
demonstrating how each part functions.
i have no trouble smelling his special, succulant salmon,
my memory chambers have burst open.
now he is completely present
i stand and watch his body slowly reappear.
i can see his short, agile arms suddenly solidify
on the other side of the BART turnstile
we hug and smile and exchange our loving warmth.
he hands me two perfect loaves of stollen
still warm from the oven
and then disappears into the engulfing subway caverns.

as i drive toward home i replay our scene of tender respect
not wanting to lose the blessed energy.
suddenly his spirit multiplies,
i can feel his eyes
staring into mine