In Some Far Future Autumn
Standing here with my firefly mind flitting wildly, I wonder what it was I needed in this room, which
errand has slunk silently away with more of my confidence, do animals go through this, does the
squirrel or sparrow have the luxury of confused revelry or endless trips in search of keys or the
word powerbar.
Maybe only long lived animals but its hard to believe that parrots, the bright punctuation of the world
stop lost in thought, perhaps tortoises, after all who would know if they stopped to remember whether
they were seeking food, or sex or fleeing some geologically paced natural disaster measured by
decades.
Will being a poet help, since one is always sifting through one’s mind for a shining tag to end a
metaphor, maybe not, spelling and punctuation were always problematic and remembering the words
of songs or poems, but now the words themselves threaten to disappear.
Words I do not wish to lose have migrated to some farther lobe, artifice has gone taking travail with it,
iambic pentameter has scuttled centipede like into the undergrowth, its many syllables high stepping
rhythmically amid layers of colons and semi colons.
Occluded is almost hidden from sight along with any hope of spelling kaleidoscope or kleptomaniac
without a spellcheck and pronouncing quetzal, forget it and should I meet a pangolin or a
brontotherium in the park I will be reduced to saying that’s a, that’s a followed by a lengthy,
inexplicable description.
And if this is aging, along with sleepless nights and stiff hands let’s hope I reach some equilibrium
amid loss and gain, and when I finally go, let it not be like an aged cat calling from room to room, let
me drop like a leaf in due season, sere and quiescent, rising only to dance in the wind.
Guy
