Poem #78

i didn’t start to die until i saw
far down the lane,
round a curve,
a corpse whose face
I’ve seen before, if only in
a thinner skin.

those hands i knew, i held them
clasped together after all,
in large rooms of strangers,
used them to put this line down,
and many, many others,
made my meager marks on metal,
paper, canvas, and cobbled shelves
from shallow, culled lumber hoards.
strong hands, could not hold against
the invading of The Nothing.

i didn’t get a glimpse of the eyes
hidden as they were by heavy lids,
stiffened in demise, shut fast, but imagined
a watered down blue tint, perhaps foggy,
holding a final snapshot beneath
tired corneas, showing the truth
of the mostly empty universe,
uncoiling forever and forever,
or if not forever, at least
for a good many years.

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