Death of a Poet

I met the ghost of you today
in your words,
and in your echo
shown on damp but glowing faces.

It seems presumptuous to intrude
and blessed to witness
the fingerprints of your life
in the ideas, inspiration,
and memories you left behind.

I'm embarrassed to dare speak
of whom I know nothing
but I regret only that I met
just the shadow of you
after the light had passed.

Still, it's evident to me
you did fulfill the dreams
of a writer we both admire
who's aspiration was simply
to "cease not 'till death".

I was asked to read Guinness at the Review release party but, before I read, I heard so much about a certain writing professor who had just passed away that I was moved by the things he wrote and what people said about him. I scrawled the poem above on a knapkin in a couple minutes before my reading. I read Guinness, then I read the poem above. I was afraid that it had been too presumptious of me to speak of someone they all loved so much, and whom I had never met, but he sounded like someone who would want to have that sort of affect on people. I shyly ran off after the reading was over, but I met the editor in my favorite pub the other night and she said everyone loved the poem and had been talking about it ever since.I felt so honored to know that my little poem meant something to the people who loved this man, that I decided to post it. I wish I had a link to his poetry to show you. I think we all would have liked him.I can only hope that, after I'm gone, strangers will be moved to write by hearing my words.