At fifty-two

As many years in my life 

Now as weeks in the year
From my heart came the sound

Of the late May blue jay grown large
Through your fingers feel the handless night

Passing it will not obscure my palm’s river
Where you swam with your children

I know the shape of my death’s shadow 
Like a stick in the water it bends across

The invisible insistence halfway 
Submerged or like a stone caressed

So long it has no shape you know only
How it feels in your palm you know

Only the shadow it casts when it is gone

5 thoughts on “At fifty-two

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