To Timbo,

Leo the lion-
with his falcon above the sea.
You are existing
and nonexisting
between being and nonbeing;
and whatever these things mean.

Your young body turned to ash
as we weeped and said goodbye-
To a man once living that morning,
then evening came and died.

Like Neruda said,
"You're a swimmer in the sky"
Our gentle giant diving-
always diving
here and by.

So close as you are far to us now,
we still hear the notes on your guitar
To a man once living in the morning
then nightfall, departed with the stars.

Timothy, his name.
See his hands and face.
Like a lion he was
and Kings who never stay-

Though their exit's all seem bitter
and many left to wonder
King's can't live forever
when they're meant for someplace better.