ON THE LAST DAY OF MY LIFE
I’ll be writing and re-writing a poem,
just like I’ve done every day of my life—
hypervigilant as a diving cormorant
and able to rest in perfect stillness,
holding my breath for as long as I can.
I was already dead—
no snapping synapses, no sensitive feelings—
until I heard the murmur of your voice
and inhaled the scent of your skin.
I’ll tattoo your loving touches in invisible ink
and take along a laptop in case they have Wi-Fi—
and stationary to test out my forever stamps.
Let go of the withered leaves on our favorite trees,
there will never be another me or you.
Prepare to take flight through the door I left open.
I’ll send you a map of my location.
Take your time. I’ll wait for you.