Elegy

We
Screamers,
We lovers of laughter,
We children dancing
In the warm wavelengths
Of life as it spins us,
Smiling, proud—

At the end and in-between
The hushed holinesses and
The jittering inconsistencies,
The dolorous dark daisies of doubt
In the blind night
And
The redemptive chill
Of the morning’s red caresses,
Underneath the hills
Of our meager thoughts
And howling out of the mountains
Of our emotions,
At the deaths of pets
And in old people’s eyes—

Yes, we know, but not soon enough,
That kisses are from lips
That wrinkle and sigh,
That years are emptied of their months,
Which sob out their weeks,
Which blink through their days,
Which are made of mere hours,
Which are made of mere minutes,
Which pass by in a mere sixty seconds
(Seconds that drip quietly from a faucet
As we sleep through a third of our lives)--
While all the books
Bleed out of print,
While the Word
Drowns in the darkness,
And the world sleeps softly on…

So we fade:
Our dying exhale
Follows fast
On our new-born gasp.
Choose your words wisely.