Consider the leaves whirling around outside my window.
When I stop to view only one, it drops away quickly
and settles to the ground, abandoned by the wind that carried it
while the collective spinning force remains fleshed-out with its brothers.
It picks up the crowds in its path, like a soft hopeful song does
until they rustle gently to the ground again.
One never notices a beginning or ending to this process,
any unseen break in the circle of existence,
that brief transition from life to death,
old end to new beginning.
Itís the same way my grandfather died.
Iím hovering in the kitchen with my father
all shaken and silent, drifting thoughts picked up and dropped again
while Judy blubbers and sobs and I can hardly feel the steady stream
of tears that dampen my neck and collar.
I wonder about this thing that unsettles us all so deeply,
knowing itís inevitable, obvious, the one stationary form in this spinning room.