a better place of dying

 


like when you were a child
and heard the hushed words of
your mother saying, "I love
you," and kissing you on
the cheek before you
went to
sleep

like walking into a dark
room that is familiar
and welcoming

like finding a tiny piece
of lost love hiding in back
of a dresser drawer,
taking it out, looking
curiously at it and
feeling grateful and
sad

like watching the graceful
ballet of pink flamingo's
standing in a pool of cool
water silhouetted against
a burnt orange
sunset

like knowing that
immortality is
one last
breath
away