Upon Hearing That Clemens Starck Has Died

Upon Hearing That Clemens Starck Has Died

I met him finally at the Skagit River Poetry Festival,
After reading him for years.
One poem in particular, “Commuting,” 
About driving home from work
With tools rattling in the bed of the truck,
Trying to think of something to say to his son
Who wanted to know what we’re here for. 
And he was as sweet and thoughtful as his poems are, 
A sweetness one could be forgiven for 
Thinking is going extinct. I’d been going 
Through a hard time, had barely been able to fly, 
Something to do with a medication mixup 
And the belief I had that my life was over. 
I could hardly function. Those were my last days 
Of really drinking. I spent most of the festival 
At the bar. But walking, lanyarded, from one panel
Or reading to another, I’d run into Clem,
And he’d say, always, though he’d just met me,
“Austin!” and we’d stop and talk a little.
We had nothing in common, really, except poems, 
Which means we had everything in common.
And there was nothing much to say, except
One another’s names. That’s what we’re here for.