for Harry Ford
I was not ready for your form to be cold
Ever. Even in life
You did not inhabit, necessarily, a form,
But a mind of
Rarer liquid element. It had not occurred to me
You would take
Leave and it will be winter from now on, not only
Here, in the ordinary,
But there too, in the extraordinary elegance
Of calcium and finery
And loss. Keep me
Tethered here, breathtakingly awkward and alive.
If you had a psyche it was not known to me.