Meditation for Twilight
Sometimes, far out in space,
I feel my sexuality blossom--
like a hot flash or like
a belated Fourth of July display.
Lights blossom from beyond
my body's reach then
linger on the air
like a remembrance of youth,
of love's first promise
never quite fulfilled, then
fade as slowly as an old man's
hopes--which seem, for better
or worse, to outlive all
the body's capabilities.
And so, I put the coffee pot on
and think of the things remaining
and smoke my pipe and wonder
how I might have delayed
time's reckoning and watch
the smoke plume upward
to my low ceiling, thinking
of all the men who have
thought these thoughts before me
and feel for a moment that
kinship richer than blood,
deeper than time, that thing
that brought us here so
very long ago and caused us
to stay and continue--some
faith we don't even remember
and can never, even now,
really touch.
Author: Albert Huffstickler
Photography: Sam Laundon
