Working to Abandon Immortality

Let us accept this pain

and some fear

it will heighten autumn colors

crack of clean air

black crows in blue sky

lake.

Rather than fight pain, falling

asleep in front of tv, 

understand the full

import of its situation

in the body. Blessed

once, cursed now

only fear prevents

full knowledge of experience.

The gray sky brings

winter, no blame.

The poet writes a few last poems

or continues to live with his pain.

In itself pain does not oppose

life, and may enhance it

or build character, create

wisdom. But too much fear

chokes the throat and burns

the eyes. It

destroys the last free

assessment of life.

              *                    *                    *

Now I am going to live in my body

as it is, almost fearlessly

running in pain, working

to abandon immortality

as a hope, conceiving

sunset after sunset

feeling what I feel.

On the streets I meet

many beautiful young women

curious to a certain extent

what makes a man older.

I can only say ten years

and the hand that reaches through

the cloud. I can say

only the knowledge of mortality

which makes us brothers and sisters

with the animals. And only

the acceptance which gives us wisdom

to couple often and lovingly.

How am I going to live every day

as my last, hoping happiness

outgrows fear by an ounce

or enough? By running, writing

and loving. By moving uphill

and downhill like a bear.

By committing my last words

to a powerful lord. How

do the clouds accept my dead

self? A rock thrown, a crow.

              *                    *                    *

When I am old
young girls will not be frightened anymore.
I will invite them
to my seat and tell
about the women I knew.
I will tell about
the clothes they wore
and how they earned a living.
I will try to remember
what was important to them
and if they had a favorite color
or knew how to divine.

Maybe I live and maybe I don't.
The smoke is white or black.
The winds are bright or dark.
The coins are heads or tails.
What have I been afraid of?
Death is most of all like sleep.
We spend so long apart
after briefly knowing ourselves.
I need you to know myself
and without you all I know
is sun.