Mans Dying Sunset

Mans Dying Sunset

There is a season—(a time)
Before you die, you know
You are dying… a decisive eclipse
sort of…
You open up the box of old photographs
Ask, “Which ones do you want?”
Knowing the colander is short at best.
You don’t fuss if they take them all
They’re not sure why—!
(Because some one may have to erase them.)
Each word you say is fainter,
more certain, unlamented—
you can now see the end, man’s sunset.

#1778 3-24-2007