As I am dying, day by day, always
a subtraction of living added to memory,
the dreams of my youth, the same dreams
nightly still given to me, as I approach
the uncertainty with certain steps and breath,
I greet the day with that cry that feels more
like prayer – “It is a good day to die!”
in the holy language of what is true needing
no divine inspiration for its holiness.
My heart and soul open, my eyes, too, trying
to catch by sight the seen and the unseen
complete in the prism of sunlight, rainbow
of delight after storms have passed.
It is nearly spring, so easy to believe
in resurrections without being dead
forever, three nights will do and hearing
angels sing, “He’s not here” in perfect
harmony in some hybrid of hymns
and blues as I dance just on the other
side of the graveyard just out of view
forever, forever, and forever whispering,
“You come, too.”
-Byron Hoot
https://www.facebook.com/hootnhowlpoetry/
This poem is deeply moving and profound. Thank you for sharing your gifts.
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