The Unhurried Traveller
He steps out from the dark
Moulded by the darkness
And approaches noiselessly.
A figure, figure-less
A presence present
In an abstract form of absence
'Cos he is not here yet, technically.
He drags the darkness after him
That seems to gather
Just behind his silhouette
Like the hush after a collapse.
It takes care not to overstep the line
For he must go first.
He is awaited.
The heat beat, heavy with the years
Keeps a cautious count of his steps
Missing a hit and two more
Every time he dawdles,
Every time he seems to lunge
As if to swallow the uneasy span
Between his approach and his host.
He wouldn't hurry though, he knows
His footsteps are numbered and timed.
Life, holding onto itself by a thread
Of disquiet knows too
That nothing occurs out of turn,
Nobody jumps the queue.
Not even Death.