My friend, you wrote to me
the beginning of your final year
you sent postcards
with pictures of sunscraped hills
patches of scrub trees
snow laid peaks dreaming down
stone gates in pastels
your caption in few words
of non-native tongue
a boat crosses the détroit
through the rocks
something to hang on the fridge
for the New Year
In a late exchange
your sickness held
plaintive short verses
tempered in translation
and colored over years
of slow and steady burn
punctuated by links to music
tedious and dutiful
profound and deeply forged
links over distance
linking past to future
unfinished writing
ending on fertile ground
between here and Auvergne
I checked for you
dutiful yet detached
sometimes weary
in novel bespoke obligation
a conduit between
limitless limitations
in scope of experience
imagining outcomes
and returning home to rest
diminishing cadence
I couldn’t read through
the translation in time
to say goodbye MM
1.14.2026
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