When the Time Comes

When the time comes
for me to depart this living, this life
what I call myself now, what others might remember
and most of all, the one whose heart is my most dear

This stone,
something that was once part of this earth, buried deep down below
or resting upon the surface, as if
as if it had always existed

This life
something that was once part of this earth, soon to be buried below
or, existing as a memory for a while
just as a while, as long as those that knew me, would know me
still,

A stone, not of my choosing, perhaps
one that someone asked the stone-cutter to carve
out of a particular section of my life, my love
something that told the world of my life

My love
wanting someplace to lay her flowers
the ones carefully chosen from the meadow
where our love for another, we betrothed,

Norway trip 2011 740

Asking others
for me not to cry
is not something that I would burden them with
for grief, as with love, both parts of this living
some would call life, exist no matter what others might say

Just as tears, as laughter, the smiles
the flowers, the stones silent holding their truths
keeping them, watching over them

Let us sleep now, my love
for my time on this existence
within my life, my mind
still not at an end, is

headstone cinemascope

When my time comes
when our time comes

let it come, what may….


Photos taken in Norway. 2011

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