Dear Pedro, I write this letter to you
For the young—and old people of my time,
(The latter being those conscious of death
Because of years, and, well, also of love,
Which tells of a reality that’s greater,
The former are of course fit as a spear.)
How youthful hopes can be broached by a spear
Into a flood of grace–this we see in you.
Than money and power, is there nothing greater?
Must life be laid on the lap of time,
Untaught or neglectful of such as love,
Certain of nothing but the fact of death?
Adventure is of youth, but never death.
At your age, one went to sea with a spear–
To fish–but you went with Diego for love
Of the Word, finding life in Him, and you
Crossed the Pacific, to fish–for souls this time,
In Tumhon, a richer catch and a greater.
Youth counts in combat, nothing could be greater
Than quickness of mind and limb, because death,
They say, does not happen before it’s time,
When the mundane hour hand becomes a spear.
But you did not let the heathen miss you
Again, for, set on its head, Death is Love.
How far from you the land of earthly love
For somehow you knew that there was a greater
Place that was calling for Diego and you,
Which Jesus had recompensed with his death,
Confirmed by the thrust of a soldier’s spear–
A land that lies before and after time.
The Tumhon sea is as constant as Time,
And the men shuttle between work and love,
And sleep, while their wives clean the
fishing spear
For yet another day, nursing a greater
Dream, perhaps one that comes true beyond death,
And which someone welcomed, and this was you.
When you refused to duck a second time,
You showed us that, as between Death and Love,
Love is the greater, and the sharper spear.