Boron's Tribute

Where sleeps that polished individual,
that beloved robot
known to us all as Boron?
We must sufficiently feel grieving
in rhythms, measure our inner ticks
in remembrance of one now lost;
we need add all our yesterdays
to future visions,
appreciate all moments,
no matter how fleeting,
no matter how brief.
His disappearance is riddle inexplicable--
All my speculations
waft
like nebulous aura;
they are ego music sans climax,
because they do not appease
the wounded heart.
Questioning, still, as grieving
will allow, and grieving like poets grieve--
an inner symphony
as one would score for life
as it were, for beloved mechanical man,
who envied even our talent
while calculating Fourier transform,
or plotting matrices using statistical mechanics,
while, at the same time, maintaining
a pixie touch
with oversized titanium hands,
able to grace a canvas
with delicate brush strokes
and arrange, with aplomb, a cup of flowers.
Now sleeps our friend in quiet elsewhere,
bathed, perhaps, by starlight,
or lifted by angels
to be taken
to his own precious sanctuary,
wherein there’s melding
forever among
the music of the spheres.


40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
12-15-14