Apparently ten years is when whatever is supposed to take effect, takes effect and that’s all I know/have been told - a change that I have no control over.
I was watching the wind blow through
your hair
When I knew I loved you
And a thousand moments since,
I miss your touch
And now my poem is the only way
I see you
And it’s not enough
Ahh, distant sister from across the sea, apparently we share certain memories.
It’s hard to tell the dead that you love them -
But then again…
When I die
Will you miss me when I die?
When the earth and the grass cover me over;
when the sun and the moon take turns
proving me no more?
Never cry,
Don’t mourn.
I am the Robin and the worm,
The Heron and the fish.
The earth that covers me,
is nothing less than me,
and the stars, just my soul,
reflecting life
in the dark night sky.
Life shares more than one flesh,
and like moss,
I grow on
the nearest stone.
Shaded, by the trees,
I reach across
time.
I am one with the rain,
and need no tears.
…and so the abstraction continued: until days became weeks,
and weeks became months, and months became years: until a decade was reached,
and the ten years they spoke of was now a reality!
I came to understand that their non-chalance about it
was due to the ten years having no effect upon their being, but on mine alone,
and on those who shared a similar dilemma to the one that presented itself to me.
And guilt I feel for closing on this elegy on loss, some say never look back with regret, par example, the half century that only now to mind,
Coming you to unvail the pretence of presence birthright made inglorious by this waning moon,
It is not simply singularly focused, nor manyform to touch for then,
Young we were and a recourse would manifest on a shadow of blur,
At once satisfying defense that both have lost, that the future then was already apparently prefigured.
So I double down, and then double again, from an impoverished .minimum, the least of which is that:
the threshold of a curious whom-to the only opportune payback , is its reflexive possibility: the awe generating the greatful humility: in the face off.
With some professionally-suitable CBT/physio program, to help me cope with and ultimately accept my chronic illness, I have ceased grieving for the old me… and with it, the past.
My little buddy will always be in my heart, but not necessarily my mind.