27.

April 2005 Portrait of Grandmother
I saw her
In that quiet hospital
On that pale ward
Not a single person visiting
The old and sick
I went to her room
To hear her groans
Her eyes closed I opened them
There was nothing there
Not death but a wall of glass tears
Her skin pulled back on her face
In a fixed sigh
There was nothing in her eyes
No flowers growing from the darkness
When I reached down to kiss her
She tasted like baby food
Her cold skin flush grey
With the blinds closed
Denying dusk’s final
Sunlight
I said goodbye in a trembling
Whisper shattered by
The loneliness where death begins

Beyond
Nothing has begun
And time cuts us to death
For life is inevitable loss
And we tire as we journey
To all that we have half known
With our shoes made of grass
And a canvas of memories
Prepared in dreaded silence
We pay for every disconcerting
Dream
yet we light the candles
And the moon leads us to sunrise
Where happiness is not that far
Away.
Such is the firmest promise existence
Can make,
Obeying the fragments of our heart
While our soul lives in slower,
Darker places…