To RD Caughron

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I imagine:
you buried to the chipping of friends’ axes
embracing Makalu
and she enfolding you
in dazzling blue ice.
Better than dissolving in dirt
or scattering as ash.
What will it be
for me?
It doesn’t matter.
Yes it does.
Clack clack.
Wham.

You see?
I keep on,
wringing out my mind
making me sick,
or is it well?
I must be done with you now—
goodbye, good friend, goodbye.

* * *

Hell!  As I look
to the mountains
they echo again—Aahaho…
Go away man—
no, come back, friend.

Tom Higgins
July 2002

Unpublished