The line between life and death
is thinner than any hair
and deeper than any chasm,
as thin and deep
as the crescent moon he didn't see tonight,
and as close and far away.
If life and death are as one
as full and crescent moon
then all is well. But alas,
this is a thought I cannot believe.
He is gone. What remains
inside all who knew him
are his shadows
both bright and black,
and as close and as far away
as the ones on the crescent moon.
Folding and unfolding, eventually,
we will join him in the modular origami