for George Brumat

After the flood he was right back in place
taking care of every thing and every body.

Gone now: The large space of his life is unoccupied
like a boat’s sail where the wind rushed out.

A quiet host, he fed us, let us in upstairs on great music,
surely, he must have gone on to better things.

We gather, with jazz made by friends, to own up
how the loss of one is much in this community.

George, like all the noble purveyors of art, was a healer.

His gift is more of the same in that place.
Our sorrow: How much we miss his face.

Lee Meitzen Grue
from her book Downtown
Trembling Pillow Press, 2011

Used with permission of the poet.