When first I come home each night
It is your face I see
Your photo displayed prominently
You behind a mic where you belong
And I remember
When I go into my study
I see the painting you gave me
A nude, of course,
Some water colour detail
A female behind, prominent lips
Of a cunt displayed
And I remember
The painter, as well as the poet
The sculptor, too
The guiding hand for so many like me
Mentor and friend
And I remember
And think of memories shared
Of butterflies and ants
Of the power of words
Of a heart so physically fragile
And so spiritually strong
A hand held out to one
Just finding his way
And I remember
That poetry is alive and well
In Melbourne
And among the reasons for this
It is you who should be forever numbered
For what am I but your legacy
Another hand to hold a torch
With your grip imprinted on the handle
In all that I do I honour you
And I remember
With thanks, with respect
And with love
And hold you within me
Always
I will remember
