On life and death
I am consumed by the thought of death
As if I had any idea what it might be
Which I don’t
Not scared exactly
But curious, in awe, maybe morbidly so
And wonder if Frankie
Whose head is dripping off the table’s edge
In improbable repose
His languid body a near liquid
Sun catching; pursuing naps and dreams
Radiating a pure release
Unmoving except for an occasional turned ear
At some (at least to me) imagined sound
I wonder
If Frankie thinks of death
But I am also fixed on birth
On the eve of my son’s becoming a father
His lover, a mother
Forging life connected to all other living things
Throughout time and space
A direct relative of the first cell(s)
When some rocks gave way to an impetuous
Impulse to animate and dance
And dance they did not caring a whit for consequence
Like sleeping cats dreaming of wild things
To pounce upon and
Babies entering the fray
Stage left as
Others exit stage right all swan song
Rejoining the few feckless rocks
That remained wallflowers
A lovely circular thumb and forefinger. Damn! Fankie, who’s head is dripping off the table ledge right alongside a rock’s impulse to dance. Life. Death. One symbiotic dance. The eve of one, the birth of another. The same moment! Miraculous really. Beautifully put!
Honest poem and well wrought. I like it.
I’m here, by the way, from Wine and Words.
Nice to “meet” you. Poem on …