I see his red and white striped shirt hanging against all the others left untouched by his breath. I say Thank You to that shirt for all the poetry readings and places, and also to the Navy Dress White for Angel's wedding, I say Thank you to each one, following them down the rack talking  to a closet. Perhaps he wanted freedom from all these but I am still in the forest and wonder about the meals we've forgotten and the peaches once eaten - did they exist? That sounds like some do-good-seeking  philosophy. No. It is the quick cold snow of truth, biting and cold, gone as snow.