Poem for Bill Cassidy

I wish I would

like a ship

that all night carries

its beloved captain

sleeping through

no weather

slip past dawn

and wake with nothing

but strange things

that did not happen

to report

but I get up

in the dark

and parachute

quietly down

to the kitchen

to begin

the purely mental

ritual plugging

in of the useless

worry machine

above me

she sleeps

like the innocent

still dreaming older

sister to all

gentle things

the white screen

impassively asks

me to say what

does not matter

does so I shut

it down and think

about the lake

near where I live

it’s a lagoon

getting lighter

like an old blue

just switched on

television

maybe a Zenith

it has two arms

they stretch

without feeling

east to embrace

an empty park

a little light

then everything

has a shadow

I almost hear

a silent bell

low voices

I brought us

to this old city

the port connects

to the world

where everyone

pretends to know

they live

on an island

waiting for

the giant wave

in some form

maybe radiation

in the yard

the wind blows

the whole black

sky looks down

for an instant

through my sleepy

isolate frame

a complex child

hologram flickers

angrily holding

a green plastic shovel

then disappears

leaving an empty

column waiting

Bill who I knew

was so angry

is dead

whatever he was

going through

I kept away

I never did

anything

I love his poem

he was really good

I keep forgetting

his last name

I always leave

his handmade book

on my desk

not to remember

but because for hours

after everything

everyone says

sounds like a language

I never knew

but now speak

spirit I know

you would have hated

how I think

you would have liked

this music

in another room

pushing the alien

voice into

the millennium

the one you left

so early

spirit

you were right

all noble

things are gone

except to struggle

and be loved