EYE NOTICE MY FRIENDS SOMEWHAT DIMINISHING
They still come out to poetry readings-but with walking canes
Some remain at home,or in Homes,or work in or are clients of hospices
So their Light is a mode to see life by,and eye hold them high in estimation.
Elders all,with kindness and generosity their mode,it is as if they are aware
of those tricks of Fate that seal us in isolation,so we dare not speak of endings.
I say that this life is where i am,communicating with you specifically
and that privilege i hold in high respect.While we are conscious,let us speak!
While we have time and capacity,may we listen!These endless beginnings
may have some finite capacity in the Ark,but i focus on that bird of peace with a sprig
in her beak,signifying good news.We are still here,still breathing.
And that gift of life is constantly re-defining us.Of course,ant and grasshopper.
La Fontaine in the Season of Winter.Bukowski's last poems were elegant requiems.
The poetry you share is an ongoing memorial-one that might well be read
longer than stone and five stacked bones in borrowed gifted graveyards.
I do not horse shy away from cliffs-more shelter in the stable of dreams
And death,i trust,has no punctuation..