From the May of cottonwood snow
to the August of acid ash,
you climbed inside of me.
I held you without fear, only hope.

I always knew
your heart would open to me.
Years passed, but I never knew…
survival, recovery, strength.

As the tubes made you cyborg,
and the blood made you human,
so many bleeps and blips,
unconscious, then laughing,
for you never gave up,
nor can you.

Your mettle leaps canyons--
a jungle in warmth,
a beach in death,
never afraid,
attached and detached.

Through murky waters
that strolled into sun,
mud baking away the purge
your breath returned.

Once a child,
operation, blackness.
Twice a car wreck, floating above.
Three times a spreader,
a needle, stitched together.
Where are your other six,
jaguar cat?

Eternity your legacy,
through challenging words,
oh so insightful,
oh so penetrating,
as your heart mends mine.

Books and stanzas,
comas and gasping.
How many times have you been here?

Like a mother,
you cradled me,
ancient and wise.
We saw the world together.
What could it say
that we didn’t already explore?
It said, “Come to me.”
And we came,
never arriving, only seeking.

For what scrapes the brain,
set in ink, but love, but art?

We never begin;
we never end.

Forever was a dream;
dreams made alive,
channeled and bottled,
sanctuary grave
for libraries unbegotten,
live forever.

And so must we