We remember you best when you’re already dead,
Digging grave plots, grey and crucifix-cool;
Music swells. Clouds and credits roll over your head,
Face down in the Kwai or a swimming pool.

We remember you, craggy, world-weary and masking
A grin under blue eyes that gave you away;
And insolent answers when charmers were asking
For love or your neck. Nuh-uh. No way.

Touching scenes from last week, William. The chain that held
Your gold watch to the gate; Faye in your bed
Climaxing to ratings; the marches that welled;
And how gentle people are now you’re dead.

-Thomas Clark, 2003