Owen (In Memory)

Judging from the lineup

outside the church,

one might have thought

we came in memory

of some great man, much

lived.

But you were a very little man

for just three days,

brushing feather light,

across these many hearts.

Lament and celebration flutter up by turns.

Harp and flute entwine

in harmony and counterpoint.

The clear, haunting notes 

of the solo flute

make tangible in our midst

your bright spirit,

soaring free.

Your life,

what a perfect tiny circle;

your silken body cradled

by those most dear,

while your watchful eyes

assessed them gravely.

All the time your wounded heart

beat bravely, urgently

against its borrowed minutes,

hours.

One voice, more compelling,

called at the bright window.

You didn't look back.

Our song falters.

All's not well with the world,

but in the end we rest

in God with us.

A shaft of light banks and

glides

against the wall, sweeping

through the giving and the taking.

We sense your unfettered 

flight.

(by. E. Regehr, written for Owen Paul, July 18-21, 2000)