THE SEED

I died in the germinating light of the morning.
Light enough to see…
but not the hot noon day cooking sun…yet.
I am glad for it,
dying in the cool shadows, that is, because being overly bright
was never my forte.
I could get around, sure, but no one that I ever met would call me
a substantial thinker.

I was a denizen of the timeline where my brilliant father
codified in me my failures.
He was though a good guy to them he respected,
mainly vodka.
All these years removed from him, them, that place.
memories of that life cycle;
now mashed together in a plastic bag manufactured by time
leaking out, dying in the exposure.

I do not regret my living or my coming dying.
Regret
after the apology is a fool’s game. I have been a fool but not at
any time near now.   
Dylan cried for his father's life “Do not go gentle into that good night…”
his father did in fact die—so did he.
“Good to forgive. Best to forget. Living we fret.
Dying we live.”

I prefer Browning, and Bob over Thomas.
Wee and old, all die.
That time is both near and far yet we live fearing
the unstoppable.
That ain’t living now, is it? Fear is life but let it be
the life of someone else.
I died in the germinating light of the morning.
Light enough to see and grow.

© M Durfee
5/15/2022