It was September: the equinox had
brokered peace between night and day;
around the world everyone took a pause.
Restless birds hovered over tropical flowers
cajoling them into pre-mature bloom.
Penguins stood still on the arctic, heads down,
silently grieving over egg-shaped snowballs.
Life again hung in a balance: your life.
Your steely resolve of eight decades
rested in a fragile body –
unresponsive, forgetful, rusty.
You asked if winter would be short-lived,
and they told you how much they loved you.
But you couldn’t recognize them,
and it didn’t seem to matter anyway,
so you closed your eyes and broke into a hymn.