Tom

(roommate, friend, 45 years)

Around a turn, runner and bear
startle, stop, regard each other
surprised to meet on a mountain trail
where each had thought to be alone.

Bear rises on back feet to show
his shaggy bulk and better see
this interloper, panting, sweating
on the ledge he thought was his.

Gathering his best bear-wits
the runner calls and lifts his sticks
like antlers on some scrawny stag
so he looks bigger too, and able
to contend with mountain threats.

His bear-wits urge: be confident
keep facing as you back away.
The bear just watches man withdraw
as if the bear might somehow know
it isn't yet his time to go.

Now the bear has come again
not in some woodsy confrontation
but internal, in a fierce contagion
from which there is no back-away
no saving tips from bear-safe wits.

You and I think time was short
too short, the path does not feel right
for death to take our friend and dad.
We've more to learn from gracious charm
from modest wit and irony
his spunk and curiosity. The bear

we meet is loss-of-Tom
our trailway threat is emptiness
that stands erect where he has been.
Again, Tom shows us what to do:
to celebrate alive with friends
with family, to say "You matter
you matter and I love you."

You matter and I love you.