To Chris, My Lost Nephew, Like a Son.

Smoke rose seeping from cracks
Sneaking into the cold night sky,
A coward from his murder.
Out of the world he went
To the firmament he flew,
To where the air thinned out,
Through the horizon he disappeared
--Unfinished.

Too afraid to meet the angels
Too dispirited for the devils.

The smoke seeped from the cabin,
Where a soul ebbed and ceased,
And there solitary,
A new corpse was born.
In its brightest time
His flame snuffed itself
From its own darkened mood.

How could you tease us
With such joy that made us greater
And exit in self-destruction?
Your only real work?

How cold you must have felt,
In those moments alone
Your soul couldn't thaw,
And you left us grasping for smoke.

Like a tunnel of two mirrors affronted
Grave stones on both sides,
At your grave--
I could see the path you took
Leading through the horizon.