From the book “Fading” by Stephen R. Clark

“I feel like the house is slipping away from me,”

he complained one day, annoyed that

things were gone or rearranged.

Every time something vanished 

from the house, or was moved,

it came closer to him. 

He felt it tugging at his skin.

At his heart. He wasn’t sure 

he was ready. Vague anger

stoked the fire of life.

A small raging

against the dying light.

He went through the house

looking, searching,

trying to see what was still left,

what was unmoved.

The more there was, he thought, 

the more time he had.

I had to take the candle lights out of the window.

I explained to him why. The cord shorted. Burnt.

He understood but wasn’t happy about it.

I understood why he wasn’t happy.

The imagery is just too close to home

echoing our own aging,

our own wearing down.

No one wants to be discarded

by death. We all want to burn on