If I knew I would be dead by this time next year
I believe I would spend the months from now till then
writing thank you notes to strangers and acquaintances
Telling them "you really were a great travel agent,"
or "I never got the taste of your kisses out of my mouth" or
Watching you walk across the room was part of my destination."
It would be the equivalent I think of leaving a chocolate wrapped in shiny foil
on the pillow of a guest in a hotel,
"Hotel of Earth where we resided for some years" I start to say
Before I realize it is a terrible cliche
and stop and then go on forgiving myself in a mere Split Second
because now that I'm dying, I just go forward like water,
flowing around obstacles and second thoughts
not getting snagged, just continuing with my long list of thank-yous
which seems to naturally expand
to include sunlight and wind
and the aspens which gleam and Shimmer in the yard
as if being grateful for being soaked last night
by the irrigation system invented by an individual
to whom I'm quietly grateful.
Outside is Autumn the philosophical season
I believe I would spend the months from now till then
writing thank you notes to strangers and acquaintances
Telling them "you really were a great travel agent,"
or "I never got the taste of your kisses out of my mouth" or
Watching you walk across the room was part of my destination."
It would be the equivalent I think of leaving a chocolate wrapped in shiny foil
on the pillow of a guest in a hotel,
"Hotel of Earth where we resided for some years" I start to say
Before I realize it is a terrible cliche
and stop and then go on forgiving myself in a mere Split Second
because now that I'm dying, I just go forward like water,
flowing around obstacles and second thoughts
not getting snagged, just continuing with my long list of thank-yous
which seems to naturally expand
to include sunlight and wind
and the aspens which gleam and Shimmer in the yard
as if being grateful for being soaked last night
by the irrigation system invented by an individual
to whom I'm quietly grateful.
Outside is Autumn the philosophical season
when cold air sharpens the intellect,
the hills are red and copper in their Shaggy Majesty
the clouds blow overhead like governments and years
it took me a long time to understand the phrase distant regard
but I'm grateful for it now and I'm grateful for my heart,
that turned out to be good after all,
and grateful for my mind to which in retrospect,
I can see I have never been sufficiently kind.
--written by Tony Hoagland
the hills are red and copper in their Shaggy Majesty
the clouds blow overhead like governments and years
it took me a long time to understand the phrase distant regard
but I'm grateful for it now and I'm grateful for my heart,
that turned out to be good after all,
and grateful for my mind to which in retrospect,
I can see I have never been sufficiently kind.
--written by Tony Hoagland
