Each Day

Your spirit is a shadow

Your spirit is a shadow
lingering
made of light

Your spirit is a shadow
growing longer
into night

Your spirit is a shadow
none can capture
all can see

Your spirit is a shadow
set free

To hear a recitation of this poem, go to the external link (paper clip) at the bottom of this display.

My brother was an old beatnik (I guess I'm an old hippie — only a few years made all the difference). I was my brother's caretaker for his final seven years, the slow decline of dementia. He was not religious, in fact he was anti-religious, but I would talk to him about spirit. I said we all have a spirit that lives on after we die. He wasn't buying it and kept challenging me: "What is spirit? What do you mean?" I told him your spirit is like a shadow except instead of darkness it is made of light. As his death neared, I could sense his spirit growing larger. He denied it to the end and I love him for that. After my brother's passing, years went by before I could write about it. When I was ready, this poem sprang up. You could chisel it on my tombstone (and please do).