LOVE IN THE AGE OF GOODBYE*

I stumble against it
my age of goodbye
bruised deep with each
departure.

I struggle for words
tender yet spiced
with bright sauce
of memory.

I stagger through days
empty of youth
and bump into fear
of waking
again
or never.

I savor the story:
A man, 100 years old,
rises each morning
writes details
of ordinary days
mails them off
to all
with love.

*inspired by a column in the Register-Guard by Dorcas Smucker