By
Reta Lorraine Bowen Taylor

He’s speaking now
as I knew he would
and the baritone rises
up all over and once again
between the covers
of his book this time.

I hear his tongue rolling
and coiling, curving and touching down
all over again on all the important places
I can see the way he holds his shoulders
as he speaks—
tense but relaxed;
rounded and slightly forward –sharing
I see the fingers splayed in support of the page
once more
his eyes darting up and down up and down
his throat shivers as he releases the words
into the room.

He is standing there once more
as I knew he would
and I can hear him as truly as I did back then
and he sounds the same —he really does
his poetry is still vibrant and chillingly close
his words pore over, lingering
as they go down on me
taking me back once more to where he’s been.

And I know it now
I truly do
that no death is ever complete—
when the brain stops clicking
the words are left to lie on the paper
screaming their truth
and those who choose to go there
will hear you still
your rich tones vibrating against the paper
that was once alive and tree
and you will have joined with nature then
bonded together
ready to be savored.

In memoriam
friend & lover
Michel Jean Paul Englebert 1952-2004
12pm 6-26-07