The American Scholar

I Send a Birthday Wish to My Friend Brian Doyle

Never mind that he died back in May a conjurer of wordsautumn clouds trundle past a cortege of willowy whiteI circled a pond this morning till morning circled meover three hundred Canada geese thinkingdear Brian what feathery beyond lies beyonda circle within a circle a wave lapping waveswith each step I took you floated further awayhow do the dead blow out candles what blues the skydo the broken songs we sang sing us homeall day I’ve been asking all day listening with my bones

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