Fragment from a Sober Night

He was born on the seashore,
At the end of a terrible storm:
No one was willing to tell him the truth,
But somehow he’d always been sure -

He was always just a little bit weary.
He was always just a little bit cold.
He was always just a little bit wary,
But he never was one to withhold.

He was always just a little disheveled.
He was always just a bit out of breath:
He could not remember the struggle,
But he was certain he had wrestled with death.

He was certain that death had him beaten
He was certain death had tugged on his hair…
And Death could have put him away on that day,
But Death had left him alive and aware.

Death had left him alive and aware.
Death had left him alive and aware.
Long ago, he stopped trying to understand why
Death had left him alive and aware.