astra, whose voice could save thousands,
whose table served literal life:
astra, you never warned me what work would do
to a man's shoulders, what wear might do
to the words a man would direct at me.
astra, whose faith moved mountains,
whose grace provided a path:
astra, you kept the knowledge to yourself
of a man's steps in the doorway
and the keening for his broad back.
astra, whose hands wrought peace,
whose beauty bought civilization:
astra, you left me on my own to sense
what a man could take from me,
and what a man could provide.
astra, whose face shone like heaven,
whose presence filled a room:
astra, i do not have your hands
or your peace, or your presence of mind
and i do not seek your charity;
only a place to view you from the earth,
to contemplate your groundings,
only a place to study history
or, astra, dare i whisper it--
a place to sink roots.