Counterpoint
This body, this
miracle
will fail
Destined to founder,
designed to.
The grievous irony—
if we’re blessed, wisdom
grows just then
as the failing unfolds
though it can be slow
gossamer at first
less vigor, a stumble
or stuttering heart
Amidst flowering,
the summons: my offering
hold both
What a beautiful description of fading out gracefully x