Archive
07/20/08 - (1)
Saying Yes to Death Crickets choiring within the nearby woods, Songbirds harmonizing in the hollies and crape myrtles, The trinity of white oaks shading me from harsh rays —
All help orchestrate this Sunday-morning serenity I feel, As I sit on the concrete retaining wall Not a foot above, not two feet from, his grave.
This sacred interlude, my thoughts are mine alone. Nothing intrudes save meeker creatures, Who don't mark the passing of days, lifetimes,
Whereas I'm obsessed with recording everything, As though, somehow, doing so Might keep me in a state of ever-becoming.
How many worshipers have been here Since William Cuthbert Faulkner was laid to rest, In this sandy hillside, I can't guess.
I've come to pay my respects, every chance I've had, Since beginning my Mississippi sojourns. Perhaps this is just my way of saying yes to death,
Reminding myself that, soon enough, My essence, as well, will have turned to quiescence — A living body of ideas, images, words.
07/20/08 - (1)
|
|||
|
|||
