Fyodor, my Fyodor,
I fell in love with you as a child
When I read all your stories
Of the wounded, the wanting, the wild.
You also lived in isolation, nearly died,
But your deepest thoughts lay open, undefiled.
I loved you for those.
Luther, my Luther,
Your life captured me first:
Your grief, your guilt, your desperate grace.
In your best, you saw your worst.
You became my brother, my kindred
In flame and thirst.
I loved you for your company.
Lewis, my Lewis,
You, my letter-bearer, my closest friend,
Opened wonder, beauty, structure,
Expanse of water, and depth of wind.
You explained so much
Of God and men.
I loved you as my teacher.
My brothers, my friends,
Across oceans and mortality,
Foreign languages and foreign lifetimes,
In fellowship you reached out to me, one body.
Though I possessed expanding lungs,
It was always, only, yours to speak,
So I loved you.
Ghosts, my ghosts,
I never walked your halls, or ate your food.
I only saw your polished best;
Never confused, angry, or crude.
I never spoke to your heart, or thought,
Nor was I one of your brood
Who knew you.