The Struck Gong Poem by Glen Kappy

The struck gong
lingers... lingers...

So the warmth of bodies
on beds and couches.

So ripples
pushing outwards.

So memories—
the glow of love—
the basking after—
before the plunge back into life;
a kind word or touch or smile;
the moments of her absence
our cat comes back—
pulling into driveway after work
or opening the door...;
the looks and sayings
of my dad
already five years gone.

Does the gong go on—
and on! —
beyond when we can hear it?

Like water of our earth
that rains, and runs, is used,
and taken up,
then rains again—
is there anything
that ever wholly disappears?

Or like the papery seed of elm—
one of billions—
blown into a corner
or into mulch beneath a bush—
are all things
we forget a while
waiting, biding
till a future,
till a rising,
free from time?