When you tell me -
as I blink in the marigold shade
of the door that still
remains
ajar, on a day
as unremarkable as any before it,
passing,
as deciduous canopies fade
to sanctified lawns,
as every favoured blade
ephemeral is captured by the fall.
As tangible now as our vanishing
breath as we talk, warm
as remembrance of playing
field days, when we didn’t know words for surrender and grace.
Then you tell me -
it’s simple enormity
hanging
surreal and immeasurable; a faltering line
between us as the nescient sunlight
of just another morning
continues to shine
on so many
private purgatories, unbound times,
and on my stunned face;
as the dog (O happy creature,
fixed on the scent of life)
stands hushed in the ancient cycle of hunt and death and turning tides.
