You sit in the twilight of a life
that is yet in the late afternoon.
The darkness you fear …
is but a shadow
cast by late summer clouds.
The wheeling ravens
you imagine …
Only brittle leaves
blowing in a steady breeze.
Do not depart
the pleasant porch
sooner than you must.
The falling sun
will paint the sky
in colors
unseen at midday.
Better men than I now stand
with backs to gauzy veil
then step to mount
the feathered bridge
that arches o’er the dale
their feet once anchored by this clay
swift climb to lambent clouds
with shoulders wrapped in mystery
bright stars upon their brows
they shed the dust of mortal life
it drifts behind like snow
til joyously they stand at last
‘fore gates thrown open wide
by hands of those who went before
to welcome them inside
When last you walk on winter’s trail,
and reach the highest snowy pass,
to stare beyond the veil of ice
at hidden valley’s wonder
You’ll have some time to turn your head
and read a tale of slips and falls
rime brightened and inked
on frosty Gaia’s landscape.
A life thus spied, from airy height
is given form by distance,
joys and regrets, once estranged
now bound like storied pages.
No single footprint writes the verse
that tells the traveler’s legend,
each choice, each deed
a word inscribed, to infamy or glory.
I hope that when you reach that place,
you’ll smile at what was written,
turn your heel, pick up the pace
and to far mountain hasten.
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