At 3 o’clock on a Sunday morning, when you finally lost your grip.

Leaping back
from the edge
in a gentle, enviable way.
As you had in the beginning,
leaping forward
into life
with a smile and a wink.
But now
that I look more closely
it seems more that you
lean, not leap.

Resting on the laurels of your years.
Settling back into
the space between space
with a sigh
and a slight gasp.
But not falling.
not falling.


  1. vesper de vil · June 3, 2008


  2. zaphodfreek · September 18, 2008

    I really miss my grandpa…

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