Leery of Death, Pt 1

The top’s down,

breezing through

 grey hair,

carrying a head

of birthday cake.

Acolytes see legend;

Not  the seeping memory 

of  ghastly

stale fumes or

burnt out candles

on other's altars.

After the day,

then the years,

tuned in:

she,

not dropping out;

& he,

mined long,

by present, doubt.

After the passion 

tthe tears.

After that day,

then the years.