Aging Star
(for Vincent, Robin, and me)
I pour out
my heart’s fire
Like water
in the bird bath,
Sustenance
for each of you.
I serve up
cracked corn,
Simple seeds
of wisdom,
Nutty,
crunchy knowledge.
My spilled
blood nurtures,
Fertile seed
beds flourish,
Sprouts
rise, buds bloom.
Some birds
take flight, soar;
A tidy
garden grows, thrives,
But my light
wanes, steadily.
You shine,
my young friends,
My spirit
flows through you,
But my soul
is growing dim.
If a wick,
I, me would trim,
Shed the
excess, diminish,
Lose light,
gain longevity.
But I am not
a wick—
Enjoy my
light, bask,
It will not
last for long.
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