Poem: Midnight between the 8th and 9th of May

Twist my arm for me

so that I may know Im free-

Not like the wilted bloom

of three pink flowers (delicately veined)

etched with faded pastels,

hanging their limp heads low

in the yellow jar on my window sill;

 

The world revolves around me

ever faster and faster, still,

and I know the truth of it at last,

in my death-rattle I have it,

the full circle of it,

the measure;

 

A close brush with immortality

forever eluding me

as my ricocheting eyes come to rest,

the turmoil fades

all is silence;

See, one of the flowers has fallen,

only two remain.

--------  ----------  ----------------  ------------------  --------- 

from A Sad Piper 1994