Poems From Providence - The Poet's Press

We keep our vigil against the time
of no moving, fearful of stopping,
dreading the hooded figure,
yet knowing that if he exists
he is ahead of us, waiting,
that the more we flee from the past
the sooner we meet the ordained
or accidental terminus —
But this, you say, is a house cat,
not the loved and lost Lenore —
Animals are put to sleep,
animals are killed and eaten,
animals consume animals —
why should the imminent end
of a pet produce these
mortal intimations?
Because every death partakes of Death
and teaches us to surmount our human terror.
It is not the end that matters.
An eternity of unbeing preceded me,
an eternity of nothingness will follow.
The only appropriate answer to the universe,
to the void that makes and swallows us,
is to leap and strive and dream,
sing to the cosmos with animal joy:
“I live. I move. I know. Thank you.”
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