Poem on the Loss of Prince

As a flower is nourished
Through all that is good
Of the sun and the soil and the air,

Invited to blossom,
As blossom it should,
Into what from a seedling is there,

So had I flourished
Through all that was art
In his music, his vision, his breath,

But now a sorrow
Has entered my heart.
It withers, deprived, on his death.


On Trying to Get the Grief Out

Numbness works itself to sit
Comfortably over it,
Spreading heavy, spreading wide,
Until it covers every side,
Every edge and every hole
In its layer of control.

Beneath, the energy must wait
Undetected, in a state
Of stasis, holding for a sign,
A chance to surface and to shine,
To thaw the tear, warm the heart,
Enough to bid them start.

Tricks and coaxing ever fail
To vanquish this denying veil.
Intoxication, expertly
Serves artificiality,
An imitation of the pain.
And art does but itself sustain,

However poignant or sublime
May prove the melody or rhyme.
No, what one needs is but to trust
To kindness and to time.