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Your 6’4” frame hunched over 
in dedicated concentration
late into the evening as you worked
Sometimes on work-related things but more
often happily lost in the depths of a hobby
Tinkering with your HAM radio
or twisting infinitesimally small copper wires 
together with a tiny pair of red-handled pliers

Your fingers bent at the joint above the knuckle
Tongue stuck halfway out the side of your mouth
Eyes affixed on some tiny electronic part whose place 
in the machine only you would know
You always told me there was nothing that couldn’t be fixed 
with constant fiddling

Your computer screen open and
illuminating some severely complex thing
Constellations you’d plotted 
across outer space 
Coordinates on point
and perfectly color-coded

Your incredible mind was so bright
as to understand 
the actual inner-workings of light
I remember you explaining that 
The Universe is finite
but also that space bends and 
If you had a telescope powerful enough
you could look into it and see 
the back of your own head
thus still accounting for the fact that 
Time never ends

Your sparkling, smiling eyes 
as you shared your knowledge with me
and I listened intently, even though I couldn’t comprehend 
the technical details
It didn’t matter because we were together, 
and that was the part 
about which we always marveled
The family we instantly became upon meeting
The way it lasted forever
The way you cherished me as if I were your own daughter

The look of loving disdain you gave me
when I beat you at Boggle or Quiddler
Yet again

Your breakfast plate:
A waffle whose every square you had 
meticulously flooded
with butter, then syrup
And at dinner:
Lettuce drowning in too much Ranch

The way you gazed into the eyes of your beloved pets
And they back into yours
The understanding they had for you
which you felt no one else did 
or ever could

Your love for Marci -
your (August) Bride of 45 years
Your hauntingly beautiful poetry
Your tender, sensitive heart
that felt every travesty and
embraced every miracle

Riding in the boat with you
Playing disc golf with you
Making crayon shaving art with you
Sharing dreams and laments with you
Hearing you tell me how proud you were of me
Your laughter 

Mark
My god, how deeply I love 
and will miss you


(For Mark B. Peterson, a poet on Poetry Soup who passed away on September 2, 2021)
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