A minute passes
and I am touched
by what it carries:

faint scent of who-knows-what;
the comfort of the seat of the chair;
the wide, wild world crashing elsewhere
but leaving its echo on what is nearby.

I am touched by the presence
of nearness; a minute passes
and it feels so close
and adjacent to the moment and its place.

The radio carrying unknown music; my eyes
noticing this slice of bread is what exists
and knowing it may be
the last thing I taste, with its narrowing
of the distance between stale and fresh;

seeing all of this in a single sweep
between what is and what is yet to come,
I choose to hang on a bit longer
to life and its panoply of sudden events
and continuance of sameness.
I am hanging on

till the last day,
when I will close my eyes
as I do now, and then
in an acknowledgement of how far
I have come, I will
not open them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T