The Dying
Last night I dreamed that there were only a thousand,
or a thousand thousand souls in the world.
The crimes and wars beyond our eyes were hollow images
we had created for ourselves; echoes of our previous lives.
We had come here, to the world we love:
our father's place, our children's place, our place;
to hold her hand as she died.
We were here of our own desire and penance
to witness the end; to inhabit her once more
and laugh and cry, and fill her with the sounds of us
so that she might go knowing we were near,
that not every mind had abandoned her,
and take some peace with her at the last.
or a thousand thousand souls in the world.
The crimes and wars beyond our eyes were hollow images
we had created for ourselves; echoes of our previous lives.
We had come here, to the world we love:
our father's place, our children's place, our place;
to hold her hand as she died.
We were here of our own desire and penance
to witness the end; to inhabit her once more
and laugh and cry, and fill her with the sounds of us
so that she might go knowing we were near,
that not every mind had abandoned her,
and take some peace with her at the last.