In the shadows, we die minute by minute,
a barrage of shining silver cars, death's chariots,
calling like sirens on a desolate river.
Salmon swimming upstream, glinting silver
like armored knights going off to battle.
The sound of the forsaken, a distant rattle.

And for one old man, death rattles in his throat,
caught between words of wonder, thoughts of regret.
A barrage of silver cars swimming upstream,
like backs of sockeye journeying in a dream.
Death comes draped in blood red and business gray
and with the same detachment as a Wall Street trader.

Where did you tuck away kindness, hide gentleness?
Walking straight towards the light, grand wrecklessness.
Fire engines tearing down the street, house on fire.
And way off in India, smelling the stench of the pyre.
We ask, what remains, the waves have washed it away.
Some of stay and stand to face another perfect day.

With the original breath so deep in our lungs,
we ponder the cycle of death, rebirth, fecund.
The decaying flesh nourishes the soil, the remains that fill the vulture's belly, now hovering in the distance.
In this life we tramp across the desert sands,
our ancestors smile, wink to us and hold out their hands.

In the shadows, death in every language lingers on extending bony fingers and offering a Halloween grin.
A barrage of silver cars, death's chariot approaches.
And the salmon struggling upstream, the dark cloud broaches.
The mother watches her child fade, she hasn't the heart.
The time has come to say good bye forever and depart

© 2006 Patricia Herlevi