VIGIL

Underneath a mackerel sky

luminescent

and portent streaked

the vigil begins.

Soft inquiries

the door opening and closing

gasplike

feet stepping lightly over

the worn carpet and

the sweet smell of death

invading all hidden spaces while

a small dog sits quietly.

I, too, have

made an appearance

shrunk myself into the

corners

take light breaths

afraid to have our gazes

meet

shunning that final

recognition.

Minutes later, I

steal a glance.

surprised, I see beauty,

life being drawn out slowly

but the skin

pearly white

the bones fine.

Death sits sculpting

with infinite care and artistry,

never missing a beat

as the autumn leaves

drift slowly down.

My fear is that

I

will witness the

last breath

the crossing of the

River Styx.

Perhaps, feeling

in error,

I will be taken

summoned by mistake

the ancient oarsmen, blind.

The vigil continues.

New ones come to

take my place

The dog still sits

at the foot of the bed.

I pass outside

greeted by soft winds

a smell of sea spray

stones crushed underfoot.

Closer to the river

I come

moving slowly

under the

mackerel sky.