For Robert Bly
He had gotten old
last time I saw him,
hair thinned white
and walked with a cane
though he still
had fire in his belly.
He’d lit that fire for many,
bringing wildness
and passion
to the frozen inmates
of boredom.
We won’t find
another like him
until we drop
into the dark pool
of reflection
and recover the face
lying trapped
in deep water.

photograph by Manyu Varma
Reading of “An Old Tree Falls” with music composed by Turlough O’Caralan