Carl's poem

My dear friend Carl Buchin wrote the following poem shortly after Fran died. I read it in Dunkirk, and for those of you who were not there, I would like to share it with you. Carl is a poet, guitar player, and retired computer code writer in the Bay Area of California. Fran and I visited him three times in California, and he and his wonderful wife Claudia visited us here once. His son Josh also came here, and used our house as a base of operations as he began his exploration of Europe. Carl agreed to allow me to post it here.

I Have No Image

I have no image to use
As you would point out
No surreal metaphor
No voice in the cabinet
Of wishes and desires
To distract the fact that you are
No longer on this planet.

We don't want to admit
Your laughter could vanish
Mother's heart could stop
Billie Holiday playing
Without you listening
Books never to be opened
Your eyes closed
Like the eyes of the dawn
When morning arrives
And only pain survives

But you are gone
Overnight this world
You loved for the beauty
Of the garden for the
Taste of garlic and orange
For the possibility of love
And the time to grow
Overnight this world
Shaped to you plan
Returns to weeds and nettles

The is no image, Fran