Last Poem

It ends here

on a pinpoint
balanced,
pierced
lightly, slightly
raised above a
white matte surface,
well lit
and prepared
for study;

ends here

in death, still
apparently ready
to come back
to life at a spark
moment;

is its own
epitaph, condensed
clues,
map to buried
value;

what it says about
its origin is not
easily discerned

but that it ends here
sends some signal
as to where it might
have begun — in

a collector’s eye,
a pirate’s free hand,
a gravedigger’s shed
full of dirty tools
used mostly in
necessary chores
of sorrow and
what sorrow
leaves behind.

— Tony Brown,  May 23rd, 2014.  Finale.