Lessons Learned from One Dying

Just be.

Birch bark peeled back at the
end of winter.

Thawing ice, in an
abandoned corner of a field,
dripping water on red clay.

The fighting dog, no longer guarding his bone,
circling and lying down in the
sun.

A glass of iced tea with mint and lemon offered in the
heat of July yard work.

A child’s fingers tracing the prickly edges of a
father’s beard.

A tender, calloused hand wiping
a tear from a child’s cheek.

Bleeding palms turned outward against
heavy splintering wood.