Jigsaw Poem

Final Dream
by William H. Graffius from Watching the Wind Blow By

The gleam of sunlight on fresh fallen snow

conceals a lone broken syringe

at my frozen feet.

Ironic imagery, I think, for

seven years lost in alternating

pleasure and pain,

eventually numbness.

Even the bite of winter wind

fails to break through

and the blurring world becomes

A fantastic kaleidoscope of color

And light.

Across the park the old woman

feeds bits of burnt toast to the pigeons.

Death, albeit belated, has finally come

I think, for me, and I hope

I do not startle her in her daily

life giving ritual

as I sink into my final dream.