Newton’s Epilogue
(In Memoriam)
Once, on a cold incline
named after your mother,
you turned as if Karajan to his Figaro;
as if Jesus to Simon and said
To conquer death,
we only have to die.
At the drop of a baton,
time holds sway like a dirge,
wincing at the refrain
of it’s own untold forecast;
we only have to die.
And what of gravity
– we ask in ashen faced repose –
what if clouds lifted
like Vaughan Williams ascending;
as if a Lark in vertiginous flight.
©️Orion Foote
Visions of Orion Poetry 