by Chris Mason


You would call me Euro-Jesus when I walked through the door
Your hands pressed together in jest
I was never quick enough to say “let us break bread”
But with coffee there would always be talk
Zealots cursed and croissants brought forth
Your wit whet and used with impunity
Your heart a large and dangerous thing
But bristling hide could not disguise
This fierce organ plated with gold
So you built a fortress overlooking the sea
An empire of friendship at the edge of the world
For we all needed you, sometime, someplace
Now you’ve left us here in the mist
And I feel you where mountain meets sky
I heard you say the morning after you died
Do what you want but do what you must