Bruce

Bruce

I loved Bruce.
He loved me.
He even proposed to me once. . . .
In his younger days.
But I have felt
And I daresay
I’m not the only one
Who has felt
Some regret
Some guilt
Some disappointment
In myself
At the way I spent time. . .
Or did not spend time. . .
With him.
And I carried this
Like a stone
In here
In my heart.

There is one thing I know
For sure.
Bruce is in a place
Or state of being
In which
He looks on us
With compassion
And love. . .
In which
He is at peace.
I know this as surely
As I am here
Because he let me know
And he wants me
To tell us all
That we should
Take that stone,
Or lead weight,
Or geode,
Or whatever it might be,
And tie
A stout piece of twine
Around it
And then tie
The other end
Of that piece of twine
To a helium-filled balloon,
Or to the leg of a red-tailed hawk,
Or to a kite in Jacobson Park,
Or to a rocket shooting off this planet,
And let it go.
Let it go.
So that in its place
There is compassion
And peace
And love.
So that in its place
There is Bruce.

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