At that time a country held its breath between the weight of memory and the shape of what comes next He turned the key in silence as if a life could vanish without a question why just dust and light and paintings and a closing of the sky Between two worlds between the dark and dawn between what we were given and what is never gone Between two worlds between the loss and time what we carry forward outlives what we leave behind The walls still hold their voices the colors still would speak of hands that shaped a lifetime and truths he dared to seek But time became uncertain the ground no longer sure and everything he carried found no place to endure Between two worlds between the known and new between the life he lived for and all he could not do Between two worlds between the dark and dawn what we carry forward is never truly gone No final exhibition no gentle letting be just fragments of a story rewoven into me Yet memory kept its fire refused to disappear and in forty years of dreaming his vision turned to clear And here within my own story his traces still remain in lines of thought and lineage in loss that speaks again He wove his life to language to something whole and rare a final work of being the man, the time, the art Between two worlds yet neither left behind for what is truly given outlives both place and time Between two worlds between the dark and dawn what we carry forward is never truly gone Between two worlds still carrying on.
