Stan – a poem

have mercy on a man whose
hardest cross
    we only glimpsed
was caring much

who all these days looked out
through the private scars
   of wounded sight
have mercy on a weary heart
   and haunted too we think
until remembering
itself became a shadow that
cast long across his face
his world
and into all to come
   he thought

have mercy
for whether yet he knew your name
his hands knew well
   and loved
the texture of our mind
Lord have mercy on a man
whose last work
chosen designed completed alone
   was his own life
and that
he gave to you



In memory of Stan
Builder and craftsman