Poem for the Vidyadhara Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche Upon his death April 4, 1987 On a cloudy day I saw your face. It was stretched across the sky. Everywhere I looked, there you were. The wind blew through your hair. All sounds became mantras Streaming from your mouth. I longed to hold you, but you dissolved. Finally, empty-handed, sitting still, I let you go And we caressed.