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may he never see this

when he walks
mystery shrouds him.
what is he feeling?
we all wonder,
perplexed.
is he floating with his lover, the ethereal cloud
many miles above us, while we simply watch a mirage
of his body cross the campus?
but we can presume
that he is away,
visiting his long lost friend jack
at the bottom of the atlantic.

when he speaks
the scent of the third cup of coffee on his breath
comforts me like a hug on a misty day,
or a woolen sweater that fits just right,
as orange and red leaves swirl around me.
the words that leave his lips 
are nuanced, holding meaning
that I can only try to comprehend.
and when he sings
he is perfectly broken
the stitches that just barely hold him together
have healed for a moment
almost invisible.

when he cries
the world cries with him
because we are helpless
were we too late, or did we simply not try hard enough?
nevertheless, we have given up hope.