Two Deaths

The sinews of the mind
may loosen like the skin,
the dying brain unwind
this constellation in
this head, a calm descend,
oblivion begin.
If Nature's kind,
before I go
I go
.


Old people die. And that's all right,
I reasoned, young. They occupy
a different space. Day ends in night.
Their journey's made them reconciled.

In middle age, though, I can't know.
My body slips toward death, not I.
Will terror taunt me as I go
that every death's that of a child?

Max Gutmann

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Max Gutmann would be pleased to hear them