The Closing

There

leather covered, heavy, richly embroidered,
pergament, hand finely pressed, embossed, yin und yang,
near new, print still damp,
sketches of life,
passion, thoughts, emotions, strength

Lying there

the Book of Life, one of a kind.
Parchment that magically fills.
For bedtimes, in-between, to read aloud, for laughs,
for damp days, watching, hung branches, crystal dew, dropping slowly,
or t-shirted evenings, air, sweet pollen heavy, on river banks, sitting quiet,
by moonlight, in the wild, as pillow, softly dream feathered
or as a close friend, when turmoiled or lost

Just lying there

partly read, flipped through.
A glimpse of what has been and what’s not to come.
Notes, dreams, dialectic, togetherness.
Rainbow images, a touch, a giggle, toffee stomach,
Soft falling sunlight, a toss of hair,
Foundation for life, of life,
breath of fresh air

Just lying there in the

middle of nowhere.
Where one hasn’t yet been.
Not daring to read.
Skipping, skipping, skipping unknowns,
at the last page,
End
Void

Just lying there, in the middle

a postscript, catching light,
“I love you…”
handwritten, crimson, faint, burnt hope,
“you can always call…”

Just lying there, in the middle, in

absolution, last effort, the cover, heavy,
with both hands, sweaty, convicted, closing.
Subtly bent, cover, avoiding fit, lifting, curving up,
begging to stay open,
Not closing like a “nice” book,
leaving a gap for after life

Just lying there, in the middle, in the

hope of being read, love, life,
quivering cover, edging back,
life stirring, hope, sunlight,
to live, to relive, to blossom.
Controlled fate. End station.
Closing, unforgiving, determination.
chained, sealed, locked.

Just lying there, in the middle, in the way.

Conveyance of the corpus.
Silently.
Mausoleum, arches, dark, far end in black,
Walls lined, books, large and small, thick and thin,
stories from floor to ceiling, high.
And placed to rest, on dust.
Within row, of rows,
of rows, stretching out into the void