from David

May You Rise
For Dariusz Rawa
by David Massengill

Your November deepens,
spiders’ webs recede,
and bear grows
into something scary.

We wait for you to wake.

You travel, though,
above blue December’s
snow-laden slopes,
past sharp peaks.

We wait for you to wake.

Free from time,
you visit moon,
white like bone
or mother’s milk.

We wait for you to wake.

A Polish spring,
we want again.
You in bloom
and forever castles.

We wait for you to wake.

A healer fallen
is an avalanche,
all foundation gone,
ice replacing life.
Yet you point
to owls’ nests,
soft feathers intact,
and tell us:

You wait for me to wake
because you are the ones who sleep.