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A man of considerable refinement
& impressive achievements in the subtle arts
dies alone to-day.
A body chewed through by age
& cancers lies
silent amid colored scraps (notes
to himself) - confetti of self-celebration;
life lived inside his own mind. A book,
solitary studies of Parisian streets
& moonlight - unfinished.
All the ships are sailing,
mastheads sinking beneath the horizon.
Sand in his shoes, sand
from a shore creating the illusion
of boats going down
to the bottom of the ocean. He thinks
maybe it is better
to be left behind.
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my father worked on the sea all his life. this very much reminded me of him. he passed with cancer and this could have been his story. He finally made peace with God. Thank you for writing this piece.
