Life is mostly messy.
Summer giving way to
autumn giving way to
winter, it does not let
us go easily, these
seasons sticky with the
wrapping and entrapping,
with indignities of
failing flesh and worse,
the fading perceptions
and personalities.
Tears have never slowed this
deep rooted entropy
breaking those whom I have
loved and love still,
an anticipated
wrongness of lingering,
the final certainty.
.
Somewhere, between grieving
for what I knew and lost
and fear of what I know
and yet have not met face
to face, lies this: when time’s
time is up, I want to
see it coming, grasping
the final antics of
brain, of bone, of spirit;
Clear-sighted. I’ve always
had one hand on that door,
one eye’s wink from darkness
into light, a wing beat
from falling, into flight,
one joyous leap into
the laughing eternal’s
loving arms. It is not
death I fear but dying.