Elegy and Sequence for T.D.

Dark Current: for Terry, Who Died on May 9, 2023Nuestras vidas son los ríosque van a dar en la marque es la muerte...IToday the first crepe myrtle burns to whiteOn slender stems and languid, drooping sprays.The sun’s exsanguinating shower of lightDrains the soft, purple blooms. And as the daysSlide by, in their bright river of clear rays,Rolling down to the wide, receptive sea --The sea of death which harbors fierce ospreysThat snatch our terminal mortality --We are swallowed in that mysteryOf ineluctable extinction, deathWhich rides dark rhythms of eternityAnd swallows life’s last rattling burst of breath.IIMalae Tenebrae Orci: Wicked Shades of DeathNow I lay me down to sleep --Soon I too will enter Hell’s keep..Five days ago, as the Sky cried,Word came to me: Terry had died.Here, in the mountains, it was coldAnd damp, and I was feeling old.I was two years older than her,Yet only I heard mid-Spring stirThrough pale cloth of stifled painAnd solitary drops of rain,For she lay elsewhere, on her bed,One moment alive, and the next dead.The earth moved on through shower and breeze.Soon the day of obsequiesHad come and passed, and through the nightShe vanished in the horned moon’s light.IIITime’s Completion: for T.D. The days are passing quickly, nightsAre populated with slow flightsOf disjointed images,And fossils of time’s dried up seas.Two weeks ago you were soft flesh,And in the early morning freshBuds of sweet-scented, blooming MayOpened and closed with the gasping day.As your body broke with the strain,And shortening time yielded to pain,Your heart and lungs began to fail,And soon you met your solemn bale.IVFirst Flowers FadingDark hyacinths quiver and fade,And with them, in the mistThat follows dawn, aphids paradeOn the pink rose’s breast.This was your last sweet blossomed May,When violets blew a kiss,When dimness cloaked you as you lay,And death sealed your dry lips. ----------------------Epigraph: Jorge Manrique, Coplas por La Muerte de su Padre. Our lives are the rivers which flow into the sea which is death. Bob Zisk is retired and lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico with his wife, Chamchun. His academic training was in Classical and Medieval Langauges and Literature, and Philosophy. He was Director of Technical Services for NYC’s Division of Homeless Housing Development and sat on the agency’s Design Review Committee. He has written grants for community based housing organizations, and has taught planning and zoning issues, building stabilization, and construction contract management. He has also taught World Religions and Classical Languages and Literature. He has been published in Lucid Rhythms, Quarterly Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Better than Starbucks, Asses of Parnassus, Vates, Snakeskin, The Hypertexts, and The Lyric. Watch Now This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit ageofmuses.substack.com/subscribe