Riddles were not shaped to die young—

a hurricane that rips through an apple orchard in May

shreds trunks, shrivels roots, splits hearts,

scattering limbs that leaves

blood spilled on grass and shoulder and tarmac.

People were created to kiss, to dance, to laugh,

to grow old like the live oaks in Georgia

that weather the storms and branch out to each other

supporting, holding an arm, twisting together

never to be undone.

Malachi Martin met his Maker on August 19. To Lucy, my dear sister, and Daniel, we grieve with you. May the Father continue to carry you.