You came to me in a dream last night,
chiding my absence and perceived disconnection,
at least the version of it dwelling in the back of my mind.
The authority on all things,
all expressions and their validity toward full realization shown in stark terms,
defined in a quantifiable way.
Someone told me how proud you must have been before your passing,
or how proud you would have been had you lived,
in some perceived validation to which I aspired.
And at that time, I guess it meant something to hear it said,
whether from you or from someone else,
although almost a decade later it’s just a hollow form
shaping its way across distance traveled to develop its context.
Attaining that passing validation but never being heard.
Life on multiple fronts where some outweigh the others,
equalization envelopes the days and it takes distance to free them.
Yet distance challenges and distorts, making time an adversary.
While death fosters its longing regret,
I pine to be seen as your peer, your sibling.
In the same way the tumor stages across to our preceding generation,
it chokes and channels its path, eliminating aura.
Only the requisite states of grace are important.
Can you trouble the dying with your sickness and regret?
Where the courage of resolving meets its volatile indulgence,
discretion keeps them with me in its distance and its absence.