The Coin Of Decision
she places herself carefully
on the bed with summer-cool sheets
a hint of old lavender soap
and mint did I just brush my teeth?
settling in, she arranges
her thoughts, into layers, like letters,
to be read and reread and loved
those that have not yet crumbled
she closes her eyelids.
a dream begins. she pokes firmly
to test the verity of the
ephemeral and discovers,
this dreaming time, dying is easy.
dying is difficult he knows
and fighting drains the energy
hed rather expend elsewhere
living and accumulating.
wood ash grey his skin lye-wrinkled
he coughs, gasping the too warm air
odors of pills and oily patents
any quackery that squeezes
one minute more of agony
of which to boast to whom a guess
he will not reason beyond himself
no one has ever mattered.