NO BREATH LEFT

Near death she steps back

from the day to day, the ever again –

habitual and percussive

 

each stubborn beat

still bridges the gap. Thoughts flail in sleep

and push death away, death

 

that withers the breath

till the last frail flame whitens the eyes.

Beneath a blanket of snow,

 

a grey cloud-domed sky,

warmth still within –silver the triangle rising,

gold, the sun setting,

 

commingling in the heart,

with breath one last time, for her, here,

then spent. Sun set or moon rise,

 

this late night mourning,

by whatever account, however it appear,

in that single gone sphere,

 

that whirlpool comet trailing light,

cessation ceases. Sister, no more, a shipwrecked

body, a sea of stone, no breath left

 

to thread the way home

 

(for Arlene Susan Amtzis, 1951- 2016)

 

 

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