I call night awake/against the white morning walk the crescent ebbing/the bell of a cup steeped in a dark mountain blend/ kakis clinging barren branches/the grasp poised to rapture//sinister lunula luminous prizing sight eye from eye rendered/
he was no longer standing where he had been standing when I last turned to see him there looking, turning to look off into the distance at the flocks slowly wheeling returning to a distant instinctual nurturing.
I hadn’t seen him in ages, aging in the process, no longer focused, the curse of senescence just trying to hold on, holding disparate pieces, unable to see beyond the visual axis,
as he lie there he opened his eyes, looked into mine, closed them and died. no one saw his eyes look into mine, the last look at a man who is no longer there, the last look of a man who is no longer here…