Coda for Jack I kept thinking of Jack all day. I wanted to...he was in my mind and I wanted to keep him there. Two things happed yesterday, before I heard about Jack, were different. One was that I cleaned my kitchen, a rarity. I'm pretty wabi-sabi about my life. I don't mind a little filth, since I was a plumber, and it never bothered me. When I woke and saw the kitchen clean, I thought of Jack. The other was an old stone wall across from where I habitually sit, have coffee, and write, fell down. It had wanted to do that for a long time. The phenomenal world is poetry. Jack's life is poetry. Usually, I'm the one that writes the poem. In these instances, Jack wrote one for me.