As Unbelievable As

No, I'm not talking
about walking,
though standing or moving upright
is a wonderment. Breathing, then? Yes,
another marvel – intricate, ingenious,
no question. But to have lived and seen,
what in all of life, save love, surpasses sight?
To have had no other joy
would justify each history.
Radiant light! And prism'd light–
colors, my god the colors and shades
and shapes and objects, one face...
none of it, none of it could have been
imagined when all is said
and done.
Ah then, that done:
to be gone,
to have seen it all
and, then, not to see a-tall?
To lose the splendor of that vault above
or, down to earth, anyplace,
the corner of a familiar shore,
some grass, a hill, a cove,
or the view
of you
walking toward me or standing just so, before,
gently breathing, luminous, stark
but then – like him the reader now hiding over there,
and her also afraid
and me too here,
all together, about to fade
into the redundant dark?
and cease,
and vision cease,
and then, just there, that tree?
To have had astonishment so brief.
Death is as unbelievable as life.