In Memoriam: Nathan Nichols

And there he was,

welding,

the welding stick emoting,

an acrid smoke,

that filled his lungs,

blackened

and eventually stopped

his heart,

but for thirty years,

alone there,

with discarded parts,

chains,

spoons,

rakes,

a flame,

and a mind,

sending connections,

to eyes and hands,

so now,

in these woods and fields,

there are:

lions,

herons,

bare-breasted women,

expressions created by,

chains,

spoons,

rakes.

He is gone,

but everything he ever felt,

in his life:

pain,

desire,

anger,

rapture,

ecstatic misery,

has been left,

in the gardens and fields,

where discarded parts,

found their way,

into his hands.

DSC_1442Photo: Leigh Pumilia

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