Hillel the Elder in Pirkei Avot
 
                        For Dearest Jacqueline
                        March 1. 1944- July 3, 2021
 
The night is close by, slowly climbing up our insides
And nobody no one wants to do anything but let
The storm storm into our bodies, for isn’t that what
We all want, something foreign to take us away
From all our troubles, but most of us are not miserable,
As we just think we are, waiting it out for the event
Which we so wanted to attend, but we’re not attending,
Are we, as now we’re lying down, quite supine, but
Not in an ethereal sense, more in a transitioning from
One to another, from active hoo-rahs to active dying, so
We’re just going to keep breathing, however shallow 
That may seem, for after breathing, there’s only ash
And that ash, if we can call what we once were, is now
What’s left of what we all were so keen on, on loving.
                        

        The image of her when she starts to smile
        breaks out of words, the mind cannot contain it,
        a miracle too rich and strange to hold.
                (Vita Nuova XXI)

A long time ago, in Florence, away from the Masters,
I wandered into a tiny room, a chapel, once reserved
For Beatrice, but she’s long gone, isn’t she, and no one
Sits with me, and no one came in behind me, and for
A moment, I did not ever want to move away from
This dark place for I’ve never been so close, even 
Reading something so divine, than here with Dante, 
But sensing my wife might be waking in the late
Morning light, I started to wander back to our tiny
Hotel, but not before stopping for an espresso or two.
So some of the days, like now, when I’m sitting
Next to her deathbed, I’m wondering just where
Can I go in this world, knowing no one is where
Someone might be, eyes opening in the morning
Light, perhaps like Beatrice might have, right before
She told her Dante not to be afraid, to step into the light.
                        

Just where, as I’d really prefer not to hang anywhere,
Either by my fingernails on a window ceiling where
I’m slowly slipping off the fine window frame that
Others probably put their elbows on over the years
Just to gaze out at whatever scene or season it might
Be, but I’m not exactly looking out I’m looking back
In to see if anybody might drop by after hearing my
Constant yelling for help, but who wants to break
Into a private residence on the hunch that somebody
Might need a hand, as I am about to fly away from
Here, and though aerial flight is something I’ve always
Wondered about, going that way without propellers,
Or engine thrustors, or heck, even a parachute or
A bungee rope but no, I’ve got nothing above, on, or
Nearby that might help in the extremely swift descent
Onto a hard landing, but that’s not what you meant,
Right, you only were wishing that despite some tragedy
In someone else’s life, you shouldn’t have to go that
Route as well, so yes, it’s something that means well,
But all I can still think about is just where do you propose
I throw the rope as we have no banisters on the second
Floor that might do well for a single-story descent with
A quick snap and bounce that might take away all the
Woes we have, but heck, I’ve still got stuff to do, really,
And most of it is something I’d better get done as no
One really wants to look at a busy, stuffed to the gills
House with way too much to get rid of, so no, I’d rather
Not even think about option B, and since all our windows
Are really only a few feet from the ground up, well,
There would be no time to really get the bungee bounce,
Or the parachute to even open, or enough time to descend
Before the slight noose tightens around the old throat,
So no thanks, I’m good, I was up in an upside down hand
Stand this morning, like many mornings, but that’s a lot
More interesting than just stepping off into the wild
Blue yonder, so, much appreciated as some might say,
But hold off please with all the hang-in-there pleas, please.