Two old women hugging goodbye.
It may be the last time.
Courage to meet the day.
Death looms.
Hemingway chose his lions
but the lion that got him
wasnât the lion he chose.
Say goodbye. Hug tight.
The night is cold.
Weâre here for a little while.
Savor the sweetness.
Hold the fragrance in your nostrils.
Hug tight.
Time is a blessing and a sorrow.
Hug tight. Hug tight.
The night is long.

I spent the day
counting my inadequacies
because I met
a woman I liked.
I think how men sit
and tell their failures
like beads on a rosary
then think how the vase
in the Zen teahouse
is always flawed
and wonder if a time comes
when we accept
perhaps even reverence
the symmetry implicit
in being
just the way we are.