I’ve decided to remind myself
that I’m going to die. It seems appropriate
given the fact I’m turning thirty this year
and my life still shows of continuity.
Like something that can end. Besides,
it’s been raining all morning, silver fits
that fall for twenty minutes
then blow away completely, and isn’t that
a little morbid? Light falls between.
Last night at dinner, three friends
spoke of consciousness over dumplings
and I kept silent, imagining a thin wire
roped around a rosy-cheeked version of myself
and spooling out through time and space.
It carried one particular wavelength,
one long, continuous note, like generations passing.
My grandfather wasn’t afraid of death.
He saw his mind extending into God’s light,
lifting up through perfect blue sky—
to all of us below it grew bright, then vaporized.
2 comments:
What year was this poem written? 1991? 1992? It says you're turning 30 soon, but I can't remember exactly how old you are now.
Also: security word was "sympated."
Heh, now I know why Justin chuckled to himself and mumbled that Ryan is a funny man....I myself wheezed out enough amusement to cause Brandon to look over at me.
I like it when you are "vain" instead of pondering the rain.
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