The Raptor's Gaze

I die slowly.
Vibrant colors fade to muted shades of grey
habit, the familiar, solaces me
shuts out the echoes of my thistle days

I die slowly, slowly
my heart stumbles with uncertainty
avoiding risk, suppressing dreams
for the beneficence of a cup of tea

I die slowly, softly
to the rhythm of a langorous gavotte
the lyric throbbing of a soaring song
that flutters eastward from a distant boîte.

It is raining, raining in my heart
the steady pelt of memories—a mound of stone—
from long and thinning years whose piercings sound
a sharp, yet stale familiar drone

I die slowly, slowly
the hawk’s now visible above the clouds
the rubble that I”ve gathered marks my passing
no pebble is too angular/fluted, no flint too small or round.