How quietly the morning comes.
The sun’s beyond the clouds.
It’s left the cackling crows asleep
when usually they’re so loud.
No wind moves through the courtyard.
No revving motors growl.
No smallish canines agitate.
No cell-phone yakkers prowl.
Yet I think to quit the city.
I’ve thought such things before.
I wander like a Gypsy.
Always seeking more.
What more there is, I have no clue.
In fact, there may not be.
Perhaps this ache inside my chest
portends the end of me.
Life does not last forever,
why, even less for some.
And I’ve been very lucky
for all the things I’ve done.
Like sleeping on a sandbar
As a river rushes by,
deep in the Grand Canyon,
beneath a coruscating sky.
Dancing in the subway,
underneath Times Square.
Marrying a Navy man
with orchids in my hair.
Swimming in warm waters
with jewels that look like fish.
Leaping from an airplane
on a casual, passing wish!
Sipping morning coffee,
then walking by the sea.
Having had my father
apologize to me.
Holding him as one last breath
escaped his withered frame.
Shedding tears in traffic,
just because they came.
In the night, they come as well.
I give them to the world.
Heartbreak is a friend of mine.
His pinions are my pearls.
Such is life; the ups and downs.
We do the best we can.
Human form’s burlesque at times.
La vanité du homme!
All the same, I'll not unsing
the song that’s been my life.
Its rambling lines, discordant notes,
its rhythm, out of time.
Like now, my heart, the way it beats
a fluctuating pace.
And what’s to come, I do not know,
but hope to have the grace
to meet what days are left to me
as if each one is a gift;
a rare and wondrous marvel,
to be allowed to live.
To hear the laughter unrestrained
of people that I love.
To know that they are happy,
and let that be enough.
To see the color purple
in a feather or a bloom.
And smell a lilac’s lovely scent
before it’s gone too soon.
How beautiful the world can seem
when all is stripped away,
and nothing’s left but hopefulness
that mercy’s on the way.
How kind the clouds do then become,
for though they hide the sun,
they give us peaceful repose
when the work of life is done.
Beyond those clouds, the sky is blue
enfolding into space,
where one day we must all return
when we have run this race.
That space, so large and endless.
It seems to have no trees,
nor licorice ropes nor icicles
nor bears and bumble bees.
I suppose that’s fine, there may be more
than space-bound probes can spy;
a universe that’s yet so large
that it escapes the eye.
Or perhaps it’s all imagined;
the world, the sea, the air,
our fingers and the dazzling night;
all things, everywhere.
If so, we’ve made a jolly show;
a manifold array
of things that spring out of the mind
into the light of day.
Whatever it is made of,
I have liked this life.
Give or take a shakedown cruise,
It’s been pretty nice.
My heart will go on beating
as long as it will do.
I’m sure that it will tell me
when it’s ready to be through.
And when it is, I’ll fly away
into the timeless plane
where everything is made of light
and nothing’s made of pain.
This day proceeds as quietly
as when at first it dawned.
Me, and my unsteady heart,
I’m sure we will go on…
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
