Near Death

I practice the contingency
And feel in speechless quiet
The sight of her
Then close my eyes to practice
Without sight—and there she is:
A grove of pine new freshened
By the spring, nay, in greener
Greens than any of my youth
And I near death
Wordless
Speechless
Blind, I gasp— yet serene upon
The browning mat she lays
And lies beside me in the shade
And kisses me in my resting place
And pulls my tongue between her teeth
To heaven. 

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