—for Rick Coyston 1963 - 2023
of mist and fog painted in crimson hues
and delicate lavender pastels to greet the dawn.
I can’t help but think of Rick on his motorcycle,
the old woman who foolishly pulled out in front of him
has to live with the aftermath of her choice.
I can just hear him saying in his broad Essex accent
Oh my God, before his life ended on the old Bolinas road.
I’m obsessed with the moment he left us
and that sublime beauty he left behind.
4/5/23 one of the few times that the title led the poem.
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