For Scott Cohen

When you die on August 9th
And a new space opens up in the world

As you speed past all the local stops
To where the light is born
 And the angels and monsters of hello and goodbye
Are singing you this lullaby.

And there is nothing left undone
Nothing unsaid
Everything given away
And the last pieces of the puzzle are in place.

When you climb on top
Of your pain and look out on your good life
Like a Rothko
Or a bike ride along a green river
You discover, at last, specks of gold in the bottom of your pan
And there are hands gesturing and years dancing all around you. 

You step down now
As mayor of the small town of your life
A beautiful man, young beyond years
And you jump fearlessly off the calendar
Leaving us words and passwords

And rules to break
Over and over.

                                                     -- New York, August 8, 2008

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