Every year, it comes
unbeknownst
that quiet hour of passing
that date awaiting etching to
marble memory
and I
oblivious to finality
marching marching marching
my matters to attend
I do not bend
to notice
nor pause consideration
to the end
This graceful anniversary
shall come reversed
no wine
no candles
and unrehearsed
ok Im a little dump… please explain this
Eloquent and refined – this is how I imagine your beautiful face; kitten, when you are (finally!) laid to rest xxx
To Sam: You’re a little “dump”? Does this mean you’re constipated? So, have you ever stopped to consider that at some point every year you live through that date, that hour, that very moment of your eventual death – the anniversary of your passing? And you obviously never know it. The day is an anniversary not yet established… at least to your knowledge. Yet, it exists… because you do.
Bliss: Thank you. It’s so good to be imagined so peacefully reclined… I think.