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 .