Photo by Marc A.Sporys
That is when they begin
to drift away to other places
perhaps thinking of a friend
who died ‘untimely’ ,
leaving them to ponder
not so much on
the loss of a person
but that old, primal mechanism
that turns all that lives into dust.
Sometimes I catch them
out of place in a verandah
and I want to tell them that
this is the way it has always been
flesh and bones returning to earth
the same way that the cat next door
returns to its spot
after a day of wandering,
but I stop short knowing
that one day I too shall be there
on the brink of that raging sea
and I too shall be stripped of words,
waiting to share the fate
of those before me,
to seek congruence
in their passing.
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