The ancient Greeks would have summoned you, I understand that.
The hero, at great cost, reaches the silent river,
bargains with the Ferryman
to find you, to speak one more time.
And what could be said, what could I say?
A reproach? No. Maybe only this-
‘We love you, we miss you.’
Other voices speak, their echo comforts me.
I know that you are gone. I trust that love remains-
a crystal forming in the earth
from waiting, silence, absence, memory.