slipping

A poem written after the death of my grandfather, exploring how quick it was in the end.

The sky turned pink
with ending promise
of dawn’s elusive coming
A day is done
One more
One less
A day slips away again
The ending, does not seem to take
as long as once
it did.
The sky turned orange
in fierce protest of leaving
The day
though done, it is
without regrets
he slipped, he slipped away
One more
One less
we slip and slip to dawn’s
great beckoning light
The day, though done, it does not last
as long, as I thought
it did.