from a eulogy, by a poet, of a poet:
she rewinds the years for the dead
to a time he sat around a campfire with the ancient ones, singing,
"old songs written by broken men in love with their own vanishing nature..."
and it hits me, I am now among their ranks
proudly proclaiming, I am Natan Lupan, the grey wolf
yet seeing more a shivering coyote in morning's mirror
no noble howl to greet the day, but scripting what I will say,
to a world of faces, without whose feigned graces,
I would be put out to pasture
they see the white beard, the thinning mane, and wonder why I am still among them
then they decide where to go to lunch
without me, but I do not lament this loss
broken sons, long lost lovers, buried friends, and a Medicare card trump such trivial slights
they know nothing of my pitiable past
nor do they care--they weren't there
when my Elysian dreams and grandiose schemes
were born, and died
now a darkness approaches, and I fear I face it alone
though a borrowed line reminds me,
others have been there before...
sitting around a fire in the night,
mesmerized by flames that flap gold wings for short flight, then become red embers when men take sleep
when morning's cold ashes are lifted by the wind, I hope the songs we sang will be their celestial waltz
The quoted line is from Patti Smith's elegiac piece about her friend Sam Shepard