I slept two hours last night,
one at the beginning and one at the end,
and in between, the surreal midnight
of bleary-eyed adrenalin
knocking on doors,
of pajamas and flashlights
making their way to the temple,
waiting to hear that it was a mistake,
another of the near-misses that
we almost take for granted.
But it wasn’t. This time,
of all the times, it was true.
No drama, no ambulances, no hospitals,
you just slipped off, almost casually,
between email and breakfast,
as if you didn’t want to trouble anybody.
And so we, nine hours and
many incarnations behind you,
gathered long before our own breakfasts,
to pray, and sing, and meditate, and love.
Just like your life, your death was a gift to us,
bringing us closer together,
closer to you, closer to God.