In memoriam, professor Earl Henry
Through shuttered eyes, I see you still -
dressed out in earthen tones
and hear echoes of your steady voice -
lightly tinged with music of the west.
Like redbud harbingers
of Spring’s regeneration,
emerging flowers of friendship
had just begun to touch the light.
Ascending the triple flight
in Webster’s old tudor music house,
I’d stop to visit for a spell
drawn to the peaceful aerie
deftly masquerading as your office.
We’d speak of hope for students shared
or ponder an obscurity of theory
or stand before a video screen -
savoring Abbado's alchemy
bonded to Mahler’s Resurrection.
I will miss you, new friend.
rest well - knowing
the gardens you have planted
remain to catch the morning sun.