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

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2 thoughts on “On life and death

  1. 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!

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