Leaving the Body Behind
This cannot be forever This cannot be the long night's turn into some final sunlight like a dream I'm living in The three-minute line is as wide as the distance between sleep and death— the length of the moment between heavy eyelids and glassy eyes No longer breathing heavily No longer pushing ribs through skin No longer curious to see where we are but unable to move Eyes that reflect light but don't shine with life A body that had to labor along the three-minute line along forever until forever went away Give me music— soft notes pulled thick between a sparkling beat that feels like ocean waves crested with diamonds Here I can float in the warmth or dip into the coolness below or close my eyes and remember the dark rumbling like magic into day And I wonder at those final moments And I wonder if we know then that the three-minute line is a length of time and the size of a life If he stays it is because he doesn't want to leave not because he doesn't have somewhere else to go I pray for the same mercy to let me sink slowly into my soft night
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