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..
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