Glancing , then drawn  I am  to capsules

of texts and frames of  images. Even  now

narrowing the  bold print, Death keeps me

guessing.  About  fullness of  life  and

returns of tomorrow . Never knowing

nearness of the end.

 

Beloveds build  nostalgic pyramids

of light and pillars of wisdom.  Lives stoked

with  tender strokes  and brimming  embers.

 

Such  reads   run the  the scope of humanity :

noteworthy  and infamy, drones and dreamers.

Death is the jester who keeps me amused

–the wild card who keeps me guessing.

 

A peculiar host , this stranger rests

in my parlor. His face veiled, his lips  pressed,

his eyes astray. Keeps me praying .