Every year, it comes



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

    What do you think?


    Leave a Reply
    1. Eloquent and refined – this is how I imagine your beautiful face; kitten, when you are (finally!) laid to rest xxx

    2. 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.

    Leave a Reply