John Lovas (1940-2006)

What journey is this?
I don’t know, John,
but I know you
have faced the world
openly,
inelegantly,
like almost every animal
I admire most.

Sorry, I can’t think
of a sophisticated
literary reference,
only a certain
strangeness,
like a poetry walk
without you in it.

Or shall we
shut up?
Not say we love you?
Not say you are laureate
of these green hills?
Not stand here
and be late for whatever’s
on the schedule?
Yeah, why not skip
everything,
just huddle together
as the sun moves
into twilight,
talk a little among
ourselves.

That’s the ticket,
isn’t it, John?
Say it: and even
after it dissolves
into song, pure sound,
into phatic
dust,
say it,
and mean it.

Ken Weisner
Copyright © 2008 by Ken Weisner

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