IN MEMORY OF ROB HOLDSTOCK

[rozk]

As you might find a dreamstone on a beach
hole carved in it by waves and tides and sand;
or brushing leaves aside, find in your hand
an owl mask in deep woods. You know that each

of these things is the same. There is design
but no designer. Things are as they are.
Magic is seeing links; it is as far
from making them as any will of mine

or yours from bringing friends back from the dead
and yet our memories bring back their face
bring back their words. Forgetting may erase
those for a while. He's not just in my head

as echo. In green mystery he looks
and waves at me from each page of his books

Comments

[mevennen.livejournal.com]

Roz, thanks for your phone call. That's beautiful.