Vespers, 1998-2017

Vespers is gone now
From her bed, not from my heart
Scores of Angels blest

Long on love and years
Proud in every movement, She
Awaits my entrance

On the next stage, phase
Of our ascent together,
Our storied mountain

Catch a glance, see her
Preening, purring, self assured
Shakespeare’s feline queen

Jeweled from paw to pate
Whiskers sleek, shiny threads pure
Delights life in death, still

Eyes bright, knowingly
Tuned to vast universes
Taking me along

Vespers is gone now
From her bed, not from my heart
Scores of Angels blest

A friend, well-meaning,
Suggests I get a heated bed pad
To put between my “pee” sheet and
King-sized, fitted linens.

“You’ve never had a better sleep,” says he.

But I’m afraid.
I see myself going up in flames,
Jeanne d’Arc-like without
The benefit of holy voices.

Even at the lowest setting
Something will go wrong,
From toasty, I’ll go roasty
Like a Medieval suckling pig.

No way.

Photo by John Richards

The Walking Wounded
Step all round me.
They and I afraid to touch.

Cautioned by the Sun,
“Leave space between your atoms,”
It advised that too dense a mass
And we will implode.

In lieu of “hellos” and “adieus”.
“caios” and “tatas”
We excruciate over
Times move —
a.m. to p.m.
And back again.

Fretting over issues
Of when moments became and went,
How they got so quickly sore
Then even worse, Infirmed .

We look longingly for a place to rest
A chair on which to sit.

No lounging here,
Perpetual motion, the rule,
Never wind down
For if it did, we’d have to
Call it quits,
Call it a day.

Mornings, noons, and nights
Taken away,
Replaced the Sun
With Dark
Losing motion, knowing only pain.