There was not much to contemplate
he began to ruminate,
here at the end of his life.
He had thought these last moments
would be grasping at threads;
his mind, desperate to live on,
flooding him with thoughts,
that must be thought
before the final curtain drops.
And yet his mind was blank,
left only to think
about the irony
of that blankness
filling itself with self-awareness.
I can taste the years
transcribed as fruit
bites of indulgence
bursting with what was.
I chew on them in restless moments
squeezing out every ounce
yet still
those faded flavors
taste ever sweeter.
What will today taste like
once devoured
digested
sewn in my mind
to sprout, bud and flower?
Have I nourished this fruit to flourish… or sour?
Grow Gray With Me 