Despite the November chill
Some yellow leaves persist
Hanging on otherwise bare trees
A legacy of what was in a prior season
Bright yellow patches on skeletal branches
Despite the ominous winter approaching.
A hold over-
Like old men, bald and blotchy skinned (from blood thinners)
Ataxic gait and withering muscles, who hang on
Walking among young people, bronzed and sculpted.
The refusal to let go..
To just fall from the tree like all the others
To hang on- hang in- hold on- for dear life
We crave just a minute more, a day, a week
To breath in this intoxicating humor, the aqua vita we call life
On rare occasions I get this intuition that everything
Is as it should be
As if everything , the glory and the sublime
as well as the demonic and the anguish
All fit perfectly into this divine now
In the silence of the eternal present
In the serenity of the inner struggle
This precious moment
Made hanging on worthwhile
