My last poem
will range back to times in my past
when I paused as things happened
unearned but beyond valuing - gifts
from some invisible bestower
usually outdoors - the sun rose
presenting its familiar surprise
or later the sky changed from overcast
to clear - maybe the clouds were resting
above land to the east in a curve like the bay's
so the westering sun made gold over
the green slopes behind us and made
of the sea itself gold-tipped waves
nudging one another our way.
You'd be on the beach with me,
dearest, and your favourite birds
nearby as if making gifts
of themselves to you.
Sharing was what we were doing,
and there seemed no end to it,
though there would be, darkness
coming on, no knowing when
but not yet, not quite yet.
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