Impending Death Depicted as a Sieve

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Impending Death Depicted as a Sieve

         Ash Wednesday, February 2020

And with the silver sieve of end-stopped lines
and closing chapters, the wise ones sink their hands, 
though shaky, deep beneath the current, filtering
for value in the river’s spitting whorls. Beyond
the frothing rapids of the years a Further Shore,

and wiser still are those who know not to attempt
to bribe the ferryman for passage, who yearn 
repining with their pockets full of pebble gems
they know, though good, will never buy their ticket,
seal their habitation where the dryads dance. 

Content instead to wait their summons, they stand
in spray of river water by the dock, the ferry lost
(or veiled, they hope) in fog, while others sit on mossy rocks
reclining, sucking on the riverweed, eager to mock 
the hopeful ones with tickets ashed upon their heads. 

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