White from no sun no blood the wasted hand
lifted from bed and helped to one last touch.
It is so little and it is so much,
We think we hope that he could understand
feeling new life as his began to ebb
in its last tide. Could feel the belly swell
two pulses. There are moments we can't sell
or buy. Our lives are twitches on the web
that ties in love and friendship. You to me,
you to this dying man I'll never meet.
Love is a dance of many running feet
relaying passing batons. And the sea
takes him away and takes us all in time
and all that's left is songs and love and rhyme.