Originally posted 11/06/2007.

I met him
on a bus full of poets
in Baltimore

Funny guy — a long
fellow always trying
to stretch out and sleep

in those cramped seats
Cowboy hat pulled down
as low as it would go

Knew him for
five whole days
before the night

we argued about medications
outside a Boston bar
Leaning against the wall

he told me he’d never agree
to take them
if it meant losing his poetry

My bracelet matched his tattoo
Looked better on him so I gave it to him
He hugged me and tugged

a ring of woven silver
from his finger
and set it on mine

It was too big
so I wore it
on my thumb for a while

then later 
put it away
as it did not look good on me

Several years later
while scouring the Web
I came across the news

that he had hanged himself
a few months earlier
I dug out the ring

that now fit my fatter hand
I began to wear it
on the nights

when I went on stage in stage clothes
while feeling a rope
might fit me better

I did not know you well enough, Chris,
to bear your legacy —
just well enough to remember it

but you should know I wore your ring, Chris
on important days until
it vanished in a recent break-in

Weary today from that loss
and so many others
I remember you had a son

One of these days I’ll find him
Tell him the little I knew of his father
Apologize for losing his ring — your ring

I will tell him what I recall of how you wore your hat
How you wore your ring
How you snored for miles and miles

Gentle on stage
Played a wooden flute
Hugged a stranger when it seemed right

I will tell him
of my promise to myself
that I will never learn your final secret, Chris — 

how it feels
to let the man go
and leave the poetry behind