Encroachment

Death,
the thought of my own,
once as far removed
from my mind
as a distant exoplanet,
is now more like the moon;
its presence closer on some days
than others. Acquaintances’
friends’ and family members’ deaths
contribute to its nearing.
Not an obsession,
but an awareness grows,
much like that of the date of
retirement as one nears it,
or a major birthday hovering above
the horizon of one’s life.
Its mere inevitability,
like the inescapable fall into
a black hole, can become,
seductively acceptable.
And, although it has been
designated as an ending,
it may surprise us yet.