J.R.

we drove out to the grand canyon
in 1994
your spring break spent
trying on another school
like a new body

listened to The Counting Crows
too much
and endured
the egomaniacaltooexpressivetoodramatic
desperate outcast
that called himself "sage"
who was obsessed with you
who's new toyota we were in
and who's credit card got us the motel room
when we got to Phoenix
and were dead.

and i had to drink Grolsch
when we camped on the rim
and i had to buy $45 sandals
at an outdoor place in Flagstaff

and we hiked
6 miles downhill
the Bright Angel Trail
to Plateau Point
and we were so
alive
and doing something that was real
with dust and donkeys
and families with backpacks.

the memory is splashed
with early 90's neo-hippy
counterculture positivity
and the Grateful Dead Cornell '77
and my green Woolrich jacket
that i just gave away last year
and all of the colors
of the Frutopia Furthur bus
parked on the ASU commons
and the 6 foot amythest geode
in the foyer of the geology building
and promise
and future
and inspiration
and a beautiful arc of life
peppered with photographs
and belly laughs
and trips to the ends of the earth

you lived big in your short time.
that you died on your way back there
is somehow fitting.

now your youth
stays gold forever
and hangs over the canyon
like a giant
brilliant
smile