Laughter -- may it be the final reception,
the song that ushers the end, my enduring
requiem. When old age renders
an encompassing fading,
when the mind is but a string

of shivered echoes
in the interim of counted breaths
unadorned, bereft
of words, I hope that however sparse
the remainder of substance would cling

to accompany my mind through
the whirr and blur of letting
go, I could still firmly
preserve the one
memory -- the last I would need

to recognize the tilt, list and lilt
of the sound I have known
to be my own voice: that once,
many times it danced, streaking
chords of homespun joy.

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posted by S.L. Corsua