What do you do
instead of pouring a drink
on a Friday afternoon
when you are at loose ends
and you can’t sleep anymore
and one of your heroes
has just left this world
by his own hand?

Asking feels like the moment a cloud
crosses over the desert sun
and you feel the air change
and the distant promise of relief

I don’t have any answers,
but I will keep following my questions —
for him,
for me,
for you.