After Intensive Care

Watching the sun slide into the lake,
you lift  your cane as pointer,
make a metaphor,
chanting like an auctioneer:
"A silver dollar spent forever,
going,
        going,
                gone!"

Dwindling light tumbles, dissolves
in darkening water. Your words
do not disappear.They spread
in ripples that widen from this twilight
into misty tomorrows. Although
your hand, unsteady, tightens on my own,
I know that more than light
is spent
forever.

Sally Buckner

If you've any comments on this poem, Sally Buckner would be pleased to hear from you.