I am being told

     I am being told by a homeless man what my eulogy will be. He cites “the deficiency in our ideas” and prophesies how and when.
     Of my relation to light, it will be said that I absorbed certain frequencies and reflected others. Indeed, many photons passed right through me.
     His eyes go bleary (because “reason is the slave of the passions”). From his bag he retrieves socks of mine that have long been missing, carefully mended.