and to think for a minute that your corpse will bid you farewell
– it’s a tragedy for some, but a mercy unto others.
i can only pray that the taste of my death will be sweet,
pray that my soul will soon be shrouded in heavenly silk.
there’s still time for me now, and you’ll find me
counting my blessings until the last bit of my ardor
is plucked up my throat.
the fire of this world seeks refuge from the flames of the next.
ask me then,
how could hope possibly be felt?
but the best things in life aren’t the ones we can touch.
it’s why i cup my hands in solitude and let my palms overflow
with the words of my people,
tried and true verses spilling against golden skin.
i find peace on a prayer mat five times a day,
because everyone has something
that keeps them up at night.