The Last Farewell

i

If this day were to be
 my last,

I would die
 loving


the long shadows of autumn


as light filters through the apricot tree;


celebrating the chattering flight of a fantail;


rejoicing in the architectural splendour


of a Bach partita, arch after musical arch

soaring upwards.

ii

The tomorrow when I will be dead,

there still will be a lilting blackbird's song,


the iridescence of a spider's web


but I will not feel the lack.


It's now, when the day's last sunlight


flames horse chestnuts against the darkening hill;


there's the yawning ache at a remembered loss.


Tomorrow will be different.

iii

The trajectory of my death

has changed over time.

Ten years ago, the idea of death

was spiritual, focusing me

on the beauty of the moment;

tree lined shadows,

conversation with a fantail,

Bach's grand pinnacle of sound.




Five years later, even though

I had one tentative foot

across the threshold,

I was still introvertedly

gazing back at the moment I had left;

a spider's web, blackbird's song.




But now, five years further on

with death shadowing my every footstep,

I have been forced

to face that I was afraid.

In my fear I relegated

my friends to the outer suburbs

when they really belonged

on the main thoroughfare.

If tonight were to be my very last,

I would be desolate

at leaving behind

a lifetime of friends.