“Reigning Seasons”

Reigning seasons mean so little in the rush
From beacons to the milestones stretched so very taut; horizons
On all sides; they’ve asked him what he’ll do in stilted orisons,
Hopes to see them through the strain of silence, the hush
Of vague self-conscious recognition in the corridors and rooms,
The lobbies, foyers, familiar wells of stairs
No matter what the occupation; airs
Of interest and concern are there as brooms
With which to spread the clouds before him as he takes his flight
To where all travel. His days and hours are alone, now, buried months and years
Some time ago. Such tidy units close to death, the patients’ fears
No longer issue in this dreamlike state, the stupor in the fading light
Of what it is he’s done. No need for grace and salutation in a wave,
No further explanations needed here with nothing left to save.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s