Prayer for a Eulogy

That I did not stay a stranger, and
That I did some good on this green earth
That I witnessed, every morning, the virgin birth
And stopped long enough to see the sun rise

That I found the despair beneath all things, and kept looking up
Clinging to the mast until the past, at last, became the past

That I sailed the winter river until the spring
That I broke the addiction to having things
And that I learned to sing, though I had no voice

That I sat beside the lonely ocean and was not scared
That when terrified, I bore up, and bore it well
That I reached out my hands in love, before I fell

So let it be said

That I gave my body—such as it was—broken, for the world
By growing old, and only sometimes hung my head,
That I drank and ate with gratitude, and hiked long trails and
Did not hold in contempt the dirt or dust or other men
And that when I did, I said a prayer to center me in the storm again

And that I learned at last that everything is an act of love, if offered up as such
That simple deeds are atoms of which entire worlds are built

That a tree or the wood or the quiet breeze,
Or the way my dog looked up at me
Were reminders to look up, at last, for love
And that I learned to see all such things, by the end, as clues to some great puzzle,
And markers along the way

That I did my best and strove to bless my dearest hearts
And looked forward to find, to my surprise,
There was no fear of death ahead—
That the fog gave way to warm skies, and orange light,
And a table set
With wine and bread