ivadell, you held us in your arms that day - but look at how tiny me and
matthew both were; and you so strong, and full of grace. what stories these
pictures can tell, of days when we bathed brightly in the sun; with the
medicine of laughter everywhere. ivadell, I held you in my thoughts that day
(and wished that they were arms) when you were frail - and passing from this
place. what stories your paintings told boys, of hills too steep to climb,
ascended (and hearts that were not afraid to flap their wings and fly). but you
are safe now - and effortlessly breathing - where new weather will fall on you;
and all your fears, break (like waves folding into themselves and disappearing
into the sea