Dying on the Vine


In youth when I was green
and courted and sang
with electric sap zig-zagging,
and all that vitality danced,
and a vibrant, gold unfolding
of the petals of being
came alive with the dawning-
when I first knew the bloom of love,
and yet in knowing felt
the withering of its passing.
At the height of my greatest joy
I became saddled with death,
and was struck with
“Why has this come to me now?”
too young to grasp
the dark bud’s reflection.

But, in adulthood, I know
a bouquet had once been thrown,
the hidden completeness been revealed,
and told me, if I chose to see,
that in the full flower of everything
we are dying on the vine.

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