Harvest

Lord, I am terrified of dying
My heart sputters, my lungs weak since COVID,
My confidence lost; the space heater also
Nearly did me in last year.  
And it will be a year like this one when I go.

Your combine will swing crop duster low and reap

With no thought or favoritism.  

But oh this life...
Where to begin?  

You don't charge for sunrises
And the best Bierstadts only echo sunsets

My irises snap open to:

The sun in blue over the North Pole;

The sunrise in brown at Issyk Kul; 

The view from Arthur's seat at sunrise;

The Milky Way above Mt Hood at night.

Van Gogh, the Hermitage, the Louvre,

36 countries and flags and all the we's and worries

Of cab drivers and garbage collectors and actors
Of illegal immigrants and single mothers

And Malick films.

I have tasted no less than twelve languages on my tongue

Sang in Persian and Uzbek and Russian

I have been on the radio and television

And I been taught to sing by an orphan on the spectrum.

I have been kissed; I have been loved.

I have tasted the glory of Cajun boil, horchata, and shrimp tacos

And tried everything from crickets to frogs.

I have imbibed the waves of the Pacific and the Atlantic

And floated weightless in the little dead sea in KG.

You don't speak much but

Oh my ears!   Things too wonderful to mention...

Finnish hymns and Polish poems,

Chilango y Chapin rhythms,

Callings to orphans and Kyrgyzstan, 
The letters of Chopin in Dresden,

Switchfoot at the House of Blues in New Orleans

I have heard the pains and self-doubts and sins

And the hopes and dreams of a generation.

I have been called father,

And son and brother and best friend and lover.

The smells of horse sweat and seafoam and plov

Fresh baked pies and wassail boiling

So many flower-filled fields

And valleys filled with the aromas of waterfalls.

I have brushed up against desert sands and pyramids

Anemones and dolphins and porcupines.

My hands have wiped away tears,

I have been hugged thousands of times

And my life has touched thousands

At camps, on the metro or the mashrutka.

I have written books

And sung my songs.

I have studied and taught

Seen miracles and triumphed

And failed and hurt others and learned.

I have changed the world and lived so many lives,

I have seen my dreams, fears, humiliations, and goals be realized.

And I have I held lonely people while they cry.

I am the richest man I know

Because of my friends.  

Because of these experiences.

It is so much more than I deserve;
It is so much more than enough.

So thank you.

I will cook this meal, spend more than I think I should, wash the dishes: 

To feast, to remember, 
The abundance of this life  

The harvest of the days.

Forgive me my focus on the loss and the losing

The future and past instead of the now

Because this cornucopia...

This world...

This life...

Thank you.

Very much.