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.
Matt Mauldin
Santa Barbara
3/2018
