I've held my finger to the page for as long as possible,
Keeping my place, hoping to get back to what matters.
Life intervened, then more life... Ceaseless absurdities.
Desertion, death, illness, scams, epidemics, war, aliens.
My garden flashes its beauty at me. Soul's far too busy,
It's lost the knack. Simple presence in the eternal now
Eludes me. In the kitchen, frying fish for the ancestors,
I string 'em along, as though I've unearthed an answer.
Their mute presence in an extended roll call of epitaphs
Stitches my day into a tapestry beyond birds and bees,
Beyond flowers and trees. I encounter the gap that will
Soon be mine to fill, a thumbnail blip of personal history.
Watching in genuine curiosity, they wonder if and when
I'll give up the ghost, bravely turn the page to join them.
YOU ARE READING
Out of this Earth
PoetryMusings on the luminous sometimes whimsical world of human love: Bring your heart to the Garden for a feast of Earthly delights but come prepared for unexpected twists and dark turns along the way.
