Mystery To Me

Death, mystery passage —
wondering this morning
what it’s like —
this morning when it seems close
and ordinary to consider it —
when my memory seems perfect
and ordered just so,
when I feel so sweet and
normal — no sense
of dread or impending doom;
just the cold in my hands
and a list of small chores
to be done to leave the home
in order for my love to grieve
quietly, with a sigh; death
one last trip to take, one final task
to undertake — and what will come after
still not known, a shrug
not a scream, tales of heaven
and hell dismissed, maybe
the old story of crossing a divide
in the mountains is right or perhaps
there is nothing, nothing at all;
death at last is nothing at all,
death means nothing at all
and any story of what comes after it
is too fantastic to tell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T