don’t think i’ll hear

a fly buzz when i die

more likely a voice booming

instructions on where to queue

for the official passage  there being

a jam in the tunnel    some spirits

rushing to cross the river  others

determined to rush back to life in

time for the latest sports event or

extra season of celebrity chef ―
i’d like to die a more easeful

death to the rhythm of a slow

light breath    like a final exercise

in pranayama    thinning down to

a miniature mmnn ~    lifting towards

a familiar vastness  an expandable

yonder  the ‘me’ now a drift of

prodigal particles    not szymborska’s

‘to vanish like a spark’ :

                         but a generous

                         sabbatical or silky gap year

                         before the next reassignment ―
                                 no dog or horse or rat  perhaps

                                 something more extra-terrestrial