There is no escaping.
As I grow older, the landscape
of my friends is flattening out.
Where there used to be a small hill,
a stand of trees, a distant cathedral spire
there is now no definition.
Or, to change the metaphor;
on a rocky out crop, I watch
as, little by little, the waves encroach
until, in the end,
the ocean engulfs me.
Now, didn’t I do well?
I talked about flattening,
loss of definition,
I invited you to imagine an artist
painting from different vantage points.
You neither cringed
nor turned your head away.
I never once mentioned the word “death”.