Do you dread the fading sun?
Do you lament the shortening days?
Do you fear the gusty gales
That will come and take you away?
Do you grieve the green blood lost
As it drains from your veins?
Do you cling to what feels certain?
Do you wish that you could stay?
Do you resist your weakening stem?
Do you judge your own decay?
Do you worry about your fall?
Do you pretend you’re not afraid?
I’ve run out of time to ask you,
For now you’re in mid-air
Hanging in that liminal space
Between what is here and what is there.
What will happen when you land
On the grave of the ground?
Will you come down with a crash,
Or will you arrive without a sound?
Will you know when you’ve showed up
To your final resting place?
Will there be some great rejoicing?
Will you see a familiar face?
Will you still be in your body
As it turns from dirt to dust?
Will you look on from somewhere else?
Will you remember the rest of us?
I guess I’ll never know,
For you’ve reached your journey’s end.
I let go of my need for answers.
May you rest in peace, my friend.
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