After Emily Bronte Poem by r james sterzinger

sitting in my back yard
on a beautiful
early november day
watching the wind blow
the falling leaves
from the trees:
yellow,
all over my damned
yard.

i realized
i was dead already.
dead as a stone,
not a soul around
just hanging there
waiting for god
to make her next move.

that's about the size of it
my kids have all gone away
for the most part.
my wife looks at me
if i am something
the dog left behind.

even if i am not dead
either god or her
or both
will get me in the end.

now as the nights
get colder
and shorter
and darker
it will be harder to hang on

but

on this sunny november day
i am still comfortable with being alive,
understanding this moment of grace.