Scattered across the credenza, their shells
smooth and hard reflect pictures artfully
arranged side-by-side. No image captured
in photograph is necessary to
remember him; these buckeyes elicit
images of his smile, the rasp of voice,
and affectionate squeeze of his warm hand.

I cannot hear a Langston Hughes poem
without hearing his interpretation;
his voice fading in and out as he moved
close to then away from the microphone.

Passionate about trees and our freedom,
liberal in his heart and mind, he found friends
wherever he ventured. Buckeye in hand.

~ Siobhan
For Ken Sibley – our own Lorax