This is the poem that I read at Josh's memorial on March 9

FOR JOSH

At day’s end, without conscious effort, sometimes

suddenly we know the day was somehow very special.

The unexpected play of sunlight through clouds lighting

a pedestrian street?  Perhaps.  The sumptuous laugh

of a surly neighbor, not one to laugh?  The apology

for an anonymous poke from a faceless commuter?  Who knows,

or cares, why that specialness occurs.  For our kind,

however, we try to understand why, at the end of day,

some few among us are chosen exemplars for many.

Josh was a core friend, always ready to continue

a conversation paused or interrupted months before.

In his presence food had more savor; jokes were funnier;

remembrances more poignant; edgy observations edgier.

He was deeply connected to the spirit that animates us all.

Whether he knew it or not, mostly I think not,

And he’d certainly deny it, if posited hypothetically,

Josh took root on a bank of the river of life.

Okay “took root” is stretching it.  His nest was a quirk

of urban housing law: a squalid sprawl of beds and bedding;

of books, and recipes, unwashed dishes; and students

of diverse disciplines, domestic and international;

transients and intransigents; colleagues, friends and lovers.

Unique among those who shared your roost for significant

duration was a lovebird who’d lost her mate and flew into

your apartment to find another lovebird that also

had lost its mate.  The revelation that speaks to your special

connection to the world at large is this happened twice!

Josh, the palpable presence of your absence is, and will be,

keenly felt by Valerie, your friends (close and casual),

by neighbors, collaborators, birds of many feathers,

far longer and more deeply than you could ever imagine.

Steven Somkin, March 4, 2012

The first incident with the lovebirds occurred several decades ago; the second incident is, of course, metaphorical.