State This Isn’t completion

State This Isn’t completion

… state we reside on, say we’ll forget the masks
that kept us from dying from the undetectable,
however state we will not ever forget the undetectable
masks we recognized we had been wearing
most our lives, disguising ourselves from
each other. State we won’t veil ourselves once again,
that our souls will keep breathing timelessly,
that we will not return to clocking our lives
with lists and appointments. State we’ll keep
our days errant as sun showers, impulsive
as a star’s falling. State this isn’t our end …

… say I’ll get to be as thrilled as a boy spinning
again in my barber’s chair, inform him how
I ‘d missed his winged scissors chirping
away my shaggy hair eclipsing my eyes,
his warm clouds of foam, the sharp love
of his razor’s tender strokes on my beard.
Say I’ll get more opportunities to say more than
thanks, Shirley at the checkout line, appreciation
her blue-green precious jewelry, her child in pictures
taped to her register, attempt to ask about
her throat cancer. Say this isn’t her end …

… say my mother’s cloudy eyes will not pass away
from the farewell kiss I last provided her, state
that wasn’t our final goodbye, nor will we
be stranded behind a quarantine window
trying to see our refracted faces beyond
the glare, read our lips, press the warmth
of our palms to the cold glass. State I won’t
be kept from her bedside to listen to her
last words, that we’ll have years to speak
of the decades of our unspoken love that
separated us. State this isn’t how we’ll end …

… state all the dining establishment chairs will return
on their feet, that we’ll all sit for another
life time of appreciating all we had never totally
relished: the server as poet reciting tastes
not on the menu, the candlelight flicker
as appetiser, friends’ hot chatter and rich,
saucy laughter, sharing entrées of memories
no longer 6 feet apart, our cherished’s lips
as creamy as the red wine, the dessert served
sweet in their eyes. State this is nobody’s end …

… say my husband and I will continue developing
our home cooking together, find new dishes
for love in the kitchen area: our kisses and tears
while dicing onions, eggs splitting in tune
to Aretha’s croon, dancing as we warm up
the oven. Say we’ll never stop delighting in
the taste of our stories, sweet or sour, but
state our table will never be set for just one,
say neither people passes away, a lot more Cheers!
to our health. Say we will never ever end …

… say we’ll all still put in the time we once
needed to stroll alone and carefully through
our neighborhoods, keep noticing the Zen
of anthills and walkway fractures progressing
weeds, of yappy pets and quiet swing sets
rusting in yards, of neat hedges hiding
mansions and shabby yards of boarded-up
houses. Say we will not forget our seeing
that every type of life is a life worth living,
worth conserving. State this is nobody’s end …

… or say this will be my end, state the caring
hands of gloved, gowned angels running the risk of
their lives to conserve mine will not have the ability to
keep me here. Say this is the dying breath
of my last poem, will of my last thoughts:
I’ve witnessed massive swarms of fireflies
grace my garden like never ever previously, drawn
to the air cleansed of our big-headed greed,
their glow a flashback to the time prior to
us, prophecies of Earth without us, a tip
we’re never ever immune to nature. I say this
might be completion we have actually constantly needed
to begin again. I state this may be completion
to let us want to recover, to develop, reach
the stars. Once again I’ll say: heal, develop, reach
and end up being the stars that became us–

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