Narcissus’ Nadir

Crisis is too strong a word.
For some it is a creeping awareness,
an unvarnished acknowledgment
of mortality, a growing sense
of a receding horizon of possibilities.
Life’s upward trajectory reaches a zenith
as you hover above potential’s plateau—
for some a temporary loss of gravitas
for others a sense of outright freefall.
Time’s relentless blur comes into focus
with a glimpse of your reflection in a sidewalk window,
an unedited snapshot of you, now, minus the delusion.
Desultory desires disturb your slumbers—
the clip of a heel on a distant dance floor,
the ineluctable allure of the girl in the bar.
Dreams that once defied scrutiny are assessed anew:
the life you imagined while making other plans.

And then there are sudden epiphanies
when life’s enduring richness shines through,
glimmers of eternity peeking through
the space between the moments.
Look again at your reflection:
not an aging man but a timeless watcher,
an integral participant in the unfolding drama of existence.
Life fades but the lust for living lingers.
Tiny details come together to hint at the big picture:
a favorite melody from a passing car,
the dip and whirl of bats at twilight,
the last words of a cherished book in a sunny chair.
Each successive moment gains meaning
from the ones that precede it—
threads in an evolving tapestry,
pixels in a luminous display
that gain color through the prism of years.