Friday, August 24, 2018

If I Live To Be 100

If I Live To Be 100

Definitely a heap of bones by now he or she is.

One chilly Sunday morning my own lifetime ago
I drove the winding highway of a mountainside
and rounding a curve, braked for an entire herd
of them milling about as though no calendar had
ever entered the mind of man. Whether their
huffed breaths mingled with mist, fog, or cloud
was of no concern to any, nor ambling so close to
death or a Monday beside the precipice, a worry.

All of this I intuitively understood as, slowing my car
to negotiate my way through this menagerie, one
broke free and began to trot along beside my open
window. What endless mystery behind the horizontal
black slit of those eyes. Such re-definition of the word
beauty made itself known to me in that moment, that
I was compelled to reach out. And if I live to be 100
I will never forget when my offering was accepted.
Sharing the remnant of my sandwich with that goat.

© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2018