Poem 82

for my grandfather upon his death… in conversation with the brahman poem from several months before. 

Come walk the windowsill between light and
Night. Shut the curtains on the sun, forget
Preoccupations trivial once yours
You are free now. Seize it like the grass roots
From the earth. Your worth no longer tied to
The ticker tape tally of time, a fist
Could crush the grandfather clock; why bother
With trifle threads in the loom, consume them
With the mouth of the sea. Be the palms beneath
Soil shoving mountains to their peak. We speak
Of cancer; of pain; never again. Now
You are free to live amongst miracles.
What fortune, the body merely a loan,
At last, no longer limited by bones.