You delight
in your drifting age
facing bold the unknown
Yet not so much
the drifting away
from friends who know you.
When you are dead and what remains are your ashes,
who will stand nearby to smell your incense?
What have you to do
to avoid the various degrees
of separation but embrace
the change? Is there a duty?
You could stay mindful
of what you've learned
and all who shared the learning--
still nothing memorable will stay the loss.
When you are dead and what remains are your ashes,
who will stand nearby to tell stories of you?
You could stay connected
with those dear who matter
and give them stories of grace and grit--
still nothing memorable will stay the loss.
Loss is real and remembering
will not make it otherwise
and cannot take the place
of particular incarnations.
When you are dead and what remains are your ashes,
who will stand nearby to make you come alive?
Your duty is to notice now
gardenias in the garden
and gray squirrels climbing
bony branches of quince alongside
musty basements and dank brain tissue
oozing onto cold hospital gurneys.
Your duty is to know now
Montana's elk beneath cold starry skies
along with gulls and girls of Cape San Blas
and old beggars and lepers of Calcutta
but not get lost in their epitaph
and not grow numb by their passing.
When you are dead and what remains are your ashes,
who will stand nearby to make it matter you lived at all?
Your duty is not to miss the sweet perfume
of your friend's grandchild
and to miss it naught
when she leaves you
and you are left
with words alone.
When you are dead and what remains are your ashes,
who stands nearby shall matter not in the least.
Still, if they are standing nearby
they shall have a single duty--
to notice well the very day
and its various delights.
As for you--
you will remember no more forever
and in the absence of a coffin
incense will take your place.
