Sitting Outside A Day In May

        

I find myself not only wondering [but]

Thirsting, needing to know when and how they died, [but]

Thoughts or suffering or not: in short,

The state before and during…

 

I observe a skin that’s wrinkling,

Drying out and shrinking,

Hear and spy a bird in tree,

See the freshness, spring’s new growth,

The only thing I really see is death, a passing.

 

I allow myself my breaths,

The moods, desires –

All that goes along,

Forgetting for the most part.

 

Deep down I see the buds of parting

And an emptiness because

I have no answers.

All that I can do is wait and act and meditate

As if life equaled all time-in-the-world.

 

Every year in spring

I find I’m writing, charting

Charting age unconsciously,

Literally marking time.

 

Not sad, not glad but emptier

Than years before,

(or maybe more).

Noticing, acknowledging a substance;

The substantial underlying all the grandeur.

 

Sitting Outside A Day In May 5.21.2016

Birth, Death & In Between II;

Arlene Corwin

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