Eulogy

Eulogy

I do not mourn my heart,
nor raise angels over a shallow grave
to watch over it in the still,
eternal-seeming silence.

I do not weep at its passing,
I do not sweep its shattered Ming, half-broken,
into a dust pan, nor pour the sorrowful fragments
into the gaping maw of a garbage bag.

I do not hold a wake
to celebrate the once-wasness of it.
There is no obituary, no raised glass of whiskey
to memorialize the heights from which it fell.

I do not mourn my heart
for it marches still. With head held high
it stands proudly on hard won peaks
Everest and his brothers would envy.

I do not weep at its passing.
It has only passed beyond the atmosphere,
flown beyond the wildest hopes of Icarus to the moon,
where flag and footprint lie breathless at its coming.

I do not hold a wake
for it is dreaming still, breath steady
in slumber’s little death; tossing, turning,
restless with the possibilities of love.