Inventory (For Chay) My days spool out behind me, The various landscapes trodden, Their contours like a cartology A map of variegated failures Where the reefs were unexpected, The coastal fault-lines of my soul, Headlands of emotion, triumphs, Plus acetylene years of love From a woman whose pure spirit Conjured all the constellations, Or so it seemed to this star-gazer, Our child born among the galaxies. There is a richness across the terrain, Yet, so much that is cherished recedes— Death’s Doppler, the invoices of age— And my days seems to rise before me, The past like a longed-for…
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