Death (or Birth)
My eyes grow bleary,
milking out the now;
a gauzy drape to close Telestial tour.
And voices,
as echoes in a dream,
slide through its folds:
"Don't leave!"
I remember —
has it been that long ago —
when childhood's carefree frolic
also beckoned me to pause.
But I reluctantly moved on.
And will again,
though nothing's clear beyond.
"Don't leave!"
Should I stay?
I think not.
I see Light ahead.
  Steve Dunn Hanson

New Hampshire 2009                                 

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