The long dark lashes half-mooned,
those black pools scattered with sparks
appearing, then disappearing,
a wide bright white half moon curving
the other way, completing the circle,
edged with a jutting canine echoing his father's,
showing a questioning teasing skeptical
joyfully deliciously devilishly wonder
and the perfect beauty of our human imperfections
A quiet bear hug, focus attentive
on the moment like a little one, spirit strong
springing and flowing over the fluctuations of time
and his melancholies, resolute,
an unbelievably ancient long jaded face
animated with the joy of living, and wondering
When he left too soon, it seemed,
his family doesn't deserve these sorrows,
these gritos again sounded to the thunderclouds
And sister friend found her words of response in this,
not soothing but in the way only of truth,
that ego is that which doubts and questions and refutes god,
that our faith is more than blindness, it's surrender to the unknown
including a surrender to what seems wrong, out of place, too soon,
undeserved. How do we know he didn't chose that very moment? she asked
Work with that very person to help him leave this plane?
Why would he want to go? Why leave his family with these gritos?
The last time I saw Berto
he was removed, dreamy, grounded,
he wanted to be allowed his space, but not disdainfully.
So I thought, though now I wish I would
have gone to get that last bear hug.
He who said that his big brother, who took his own life,
could help us more from the other side.
How can we say it is not divine order,
even as we cannot see that it is?
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