A Not Very Good Poem for a Best Friend

Who is Moving Far, Far Away

I cannot make myself say it out

loud. I've typed it, but I can't

seem to speak it. You're moving, far,

far away. Farther away than my brain

wants to process, farther than any man needs

to go. Even for his wife.

My best friend for a decade, our ten years

of best-friendship, official this

August. We met over John Prine and

never looked back after Dylan

and Emmy Lou. You said, "Close your eyes

and hear their art. Take it in."

You weren't supposed to appear,

and then you did. You were never supposed

to stay, and you remained. Each of us relented

into relaxing. Back and forth, to and

from, allowing sustenance and

answers. Your questions hurt my

brain like a mid-term I never studied for. 

Six weeks until you go, and I keep

trying to say the words aloud. You tell

me, "The Internet is spotty there."

I know this means, "I'm not just

moving my body. I’m taking

my heart and mind.” Your mid-life exodus.

Over the Atlantic our history

will dissolve into miniscule,

transparent precipitation.

Too fragile to carry

the memories, too high

above the clouds

to rain into the deep.