Saturday, October 13, 2018

Not like this

I don’t want to go like this.

When I see my loved ones' fluids leak

like the garden's rotting fruit.

What misery in that slow retreat.

I pray for speed, for quick.

My mass, my final moment

freed freed freed

in a single sudden trick

To the bay

Blue, cobalt bay with your secret bottom,

I stand before you in the golden hay,

upright and awed,

looking without thought, without choice,

with only one this: love

at your blue dome,

at the clean gurgle of your perfect

blueness splashing

every part of me in the motion

of wind and I gulping light of gold

and feeling sorrows sinking

all of me bowing

to that healing unknown.