You left the stove light on
before you went out.
I don’t blame you
because you never knew
you weren’t coming back.
And it’s okay,
because I turned it off
while I was waiting for you
to come home.
I waited until the next morning
when the paper hit the door
and the news hit my core.
You used to be a little flighty
and you read too many books.
You had this way about your dancing
and your head-tilt-back laugh.
You had the passion of a dreamer
and the wisdom of a doer
the vibrancy of a Jackson Pollock
and the fragile heart of a child
but we’ll all remember you
as the best kind of half-crazy—
unyielding in your attempts
to save the world
and all of us.
Now that those eyes will never open,
the shine has gone from everything.