Bob Gossom

THE SHAPE OF DEATH

 

What the shadow line leaves behind

lingers, leaving shapes now defined

 

I wander among the curved thoughts

Push gently on the rounded memories

and watch their surfaces distort

Standing still, I wait to be impaled

by the sharp points of regret

 

My mistakes cloud the evening sky

bringing the rain pouring down my face

But the kindness in the wind 

rouses my feet and moves me 

to follow the gathering stream

until I’m standing by

the soothing cool waters of a lake

 

I know what death looks like

but its shape will be a surprise

I won’t know it 

 

But perhaps you will

 

When you take a walk

without me and find part 

of the quiet is missing

When you round a corner

to see my hat tossed 

on a stranger’s head and smile

unexpectedly