Croyton, UK

So now you’re gone
Quiet now that your body stopped fighting
On the other side of the line
Where your words came from
Back to creation where we will find you
When we need you

You brought us the darkness under the sun
I spend days trying to read one page of yours
My highlighting pen running out from saving
The words that touched me, the thoughts, the truth
You unlocked in my novice heart, the birds crying for
The sky, the conversation I needed to have, the
Collaboration of a moment, the stone that stands while
Others crumble, the sweat in the grassmarks on the
Back of a summer day, the sharing of the “other voice”
And the history you read for me, to me…

Soon I will be in your country
I will taste the air of Mexico City
And think of you
Yet all of what I see here
Can’t touch what your words have shown me
Will it just remind me of a man who spoke to me
Quietly, in detail from the heart?
Perhaps… but I will have to make an effort to
Listen as I did before and will do again
As the heart of a man can be found forever
Set on paper.

(for Octavio Paz, man of words, who left us April 1998)