Cumulus clouds crawled across the Rockies,
Scraping, stretching, tearing little punctures
Sending cool spray veils of mist
Lilting across the Prairie.
And far from the spray and horses
And kitty cabal,
The last breath of sweetgrass and cedar
And dissipates into the wind.
And you, fear in your eyes, spoke nervously about your rough ride with surgery and chance;
spoke deprecatingly about a self that inevitably had as little value as any other — but no less.
The thing you could never see.
And when the spirits grow numerous,
And we are already forgetting George Carlin,
We wish that memory were a little more persistent
And that there were a little more time to finally live
Before that final interruption.