Day 361: Rino

He sped right by you

leaving a trail

of bladed lights

and distant drumrolls

on the grainy doorsill

of yesterday's horizon.

No matter,

you'll catch him

next time;

you turn to

the choke weed

of your own garden

for no more than

a moment, maybe two;

then 40 years later

there's the obituary

you find when you type

his name into Google

and remember, at last,

the rhythmic aria of his accent,

the crinkly brown eyes of his smile,

the gentle good morning

of his early summer tide

when he called you

The Blue-Eyed Girl.

You read the abridged version

of a lifetime since

you waved that last goodbye:

Divorced, re-married, widowed,

grandchild, companion,

patents, papers, awards,

funeral mass;

you see you've missed

the graying of his hair,

the filling out of his cheeks,

the speeding clock of his time

on Earth;

you've even missed

his memorial service

in the Mudd Building

at Columbia U.

No more tomorrows

no more yesterdays

no dashing lights

or crescendo drumroll

on anyone's horizon;

no more chance

to say you
remembered

no more crystal mornings
no more next time around;

just this endless chill
of winter
just this slow and halting  

Good night.

Vittorio "Rino" Castelli