For Roger Upon Ascension

As we stood at the cusp of youth's promise
you spoke to me in obscure clarity
Is it now up to me—not just me, but me
to separate vision from mythology?

While tethered in body the spirit can't flee
that peeling scotch-tape humanity
We eat, sleep, and ache, love, smile, and die
for ephemeral sips from the chalice

Roger, dear friend, you will not be alone
I will see to it that you're welcomed home

Love, Emily

Roger Keith "Syd" Barrett 1946-2006