More Than Life

There is a moment when the balance tips,
Brass weights falling to the floor, crash,
As the silver blade rips through cloth
And draws its lines in the tender flesh.

A moment when, in facing death,
A man sees life, slip before him
Fleeting, like a black cat stealing
Through a moonless night.
And knows what is lost.

Beyond
Is grey and misty,
Ephemeral ghostland
Slipping and sliding,
Slurring out of focus,
As the edges of a field
Shimmer and shift
In the dewy mist
At sunrise.

Behind is passed, as if seen
Through the glass window
Of a speeding train, blurred.
Image superseding image
Like so many missed chances.

And what is left?
Is it love or beauty
Pride or reputation,
Anger or despair?
What is left of life?

When the breath is breathed,
The feather floating in the air
Fallen softly to the ground,
What remains? Carrion for
Carnivores. A shell uninhabited.
Or something more than life.