On Turning 31

Waking just at twilight,
I step into the frosty air
and gaze upon the purple
midpoint of my life.

My breath, still warm,
forms vaporous plumes
that fade with each inhale.
Certain mortality alarms me.

What a silly fool I’ve been
to think this life worthwhile!
My marks, already fading,
cast no shadows.

Turning from the bitter dusk,
casing feet in heavy soles;
I stomp my life into the dirt,
eager to cast one print in stone.

Written November 1, 2001

REWRITE

Waking With the Twilight

Waking with the twilight,
I gaze into the purple
midpoint of my life.
My breath forms plumes
that fade with each inhale.
Certain mortality alarms me.
My steps, already fading,
cast no shadows in this light.
Turning from the sudden dusk,
feet cased in heavy soles,
I stomp my life into the dirt
to cast one print in stone.