I will sit in the sun
for an hour someday soon.
Eyes crunched tight, fists 

squeezing and relaxing,
trying to act. Trying to make amends.
I know what the odds are that it will work

but still, I have to try.
It’s the only chance I have
to be remembered the way I’d like.

Even as I try
to choose the right hour,
the best day for the last

and most important thing
I will ever do correctly, a change
at the place of self-definition — 

for my originating definitions
got me here, and have proved
to be worth nothing.

This isn’t me, I tell
myself.  I’m not this
level of failure. By doing this

I will redeem and erase that —
it’s literally selfless action. And then,
we’ll all be free.  All of us, all of you.

I would have liked 
one last minor triumph
of my own choosing, of course.

Would have liked one last
modest glory of the sort I’d come
to accept as my lot — but

this is my lot. To sit in the sun,
thinking about how good it feels
even as I plan to reject it

in favor of the dark. Is it a failure
if I stay, or a failure if I go?
Is there really any way to change?