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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