Wednesday, February 21, 2024


There is still so much 
left to affect
in this life, 

and (I know) 
not enough left 
of time, sweat, and blood.

But still, I must bask 
in the gravity 
of walking; 

still I must claim 
every breath
as a trust,

as a flame 
on a votive candle, 
lit in thanksgiving,

as a theme song 
for the wildness
and the honor of everything—

for the privilege 
of knowing that all of this 
began with light, 

and that all, 
as it must, will end 
in dust.

My clavicles 
and the gray of my 
temples may be showing,

by their prematurely-
accumulated grace;

my bones may be softer,
my pace may be 
slowing—but still 

I draw 
the next breath. 
Still I will keep going.