All That’s Left

This relic, All that remains of him, Is more precious than anything, Any gold or any terrestrial thing. This was, His vehicle, his means of moving, From here to there and to me. He is still moving, deep within me. Oh, William. In snowy white, looming. Ah, William. Your voice, lusty, tender, In my dreams, now. This shard, In my hand, its edge is hard, In my heart, keenly sharp and glist’ning. My tears, flowing.

James S. Verner, March 19, 2019 (a dear FB friend who saw the photograph and wrote this poem. I brought this home from the woods with me, though I can’t say for certain which part of his glorious earth vehicle it is/was).