Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Broken window

I do not want to die indoors.
My last air smelling 
of just mopped floors. 

Set me on a meadow, please.
Lay me near a field or shore. 

Never, never please, oh please 
behind a door. 

I would break a window if I could.
And crawl out to the nearest 

so in the end my eyes could open
one last time on

something green, immense
something born,

where I can mulch with those 
already gone, 

where stars can clearly see 
what's become of me, 

and once again reach out

and gather my remaining matter.