Early morning
Is when you take
Another look at your life
And figure out
A bleary future.
In one blink of the eye
You see a reprise
Of what you feared most
From the man
Who cursed as a way of life
To the creature who lies
To survive
The onslaught
Of his past.
But then
Time is going fast.
The boy you accompanied
In his grade school years
Is now a young man
Of twenty
Silently coping
With a fatherless
And motherless life.
We knew
What acceptance
Is made of.
It is making do
With a life
As offered to you
After tears
Have washed away
The sorrows
Of coping
And living.
Yes
Time is going fast.
The baby
You held close to your arms
In a Singapore hotel
Is now a sprightly girl
Of four enjoying
The German meadows
And traveling a lot.
Now
I am looking at her picture
Framed by a Gothic Milan cathedral.
I am looking at her latest video
In the landscape of Italy
And now briskly walking through
The ancient cemetery of Pisa
Which still holds memories
Of Piazza dei Miracoli
And the Third Crusade.
What does
This early morning bring
In the realm of memory?
I enjoyed a quiet weekend
In the island
With my grandchildren
Isolated for more than
Two years of their lives.
We walked through
The sand of the island
Where once
I walked
In the distant past
Of my youth
Now gone.
Nothing like
The sound of laughter
Of your youngest grandson
Enjoying the quiet pool
With a swaying hammock
In the background.
Yes
Time is going fast.
And the signs
Of wear and tear
Of your body
Are all over
Your being.
A pair of what used to be
Wondrous eyes
Have started to dim
And you ask someone
To say over and over
What she said
Over a counter
Of a nearby bank.
Did you come
From the island?
She asked
And I said yes.
She said she has
An image of me
Looking down
The ocean
From a sturdy rock
Of long ago.
Yes
Time is moving fast
As your thoughts
Turn to the price
Of an urn
And a modest grave.