Old-timers sit side by side
like grackles on a wire.

They look like convicts
waiting on death row.

Glassy-eyed, they chew their cud,
mumbling yep, yep, yep,
to whatever words are said.

Befuddled, they stumble on aching bones,
calluses, corns and hammer toes,
yet persevere, breath, by breath.

It’s existence on a pilot light.
A flicker of life sustained
with little sensation maintained.

When hearts stop beating
they leave the soil,
let go of gravity,

transported to a safe place.
They walk lightly, lightly, lightly,

sensing the poignancy
of the fleeting moment.

Time stands still. No night,
no word for war.

Startled awake, in a revival of wonder
they discover the splendor
of naked presence.

In a re-birth of aliveness,
lucidity emerges.

It is solid as love.