Catching the Wind

"Everything is Light"

I want to die feeling the sun on my skin.

Not beating down on me in the desert

of arid indifference—

One must be wise in how he

words that for which he wishes.

I want to die feeling the sun move over me,

like a lover.

The lace and latticework of light streaming through foliage.

I need to feel her breath upon my face;

to know once more that she never left.

The glow on my closed eyes as my head

tilts back reminds me—

She has come to take me home.

And where is home?

The distance of a light ray.

A body contains so much blood

and what if instead, it were gold—

ore, even honey.

Why is blood so startling, painful?

The sun reaches its zenith each day

just as the color in my face returns

only to drain away each night.

I’d rather die with the sun on my arms,

warming my backside, my front-side, and

All I am—to impale me—even if

I must lie down in its lozenge of

light on the floor.

Everything is light when you let go.

A single death is more moving than a massacre.

I said more moving, not more important.

To die singularly is the most

original experience in the world.

Death is always new to the one dying.

The sun vibrates from her perch,

like a lady in waiting.

Death by itself is not sinister or cruel.

Dying can be.

I want to feel the sun linger inside me

And then, just as darkness passes—

A mere cloud drifting over the sun,

casting my face in shade—I will give

Her back to the world.

The sun returns and with the wind

She plays with my hair.

I look back at the body.

I am all light.

Funny. I thought the sun

was the source of our light.

Now I remember what "they" said:

Gravity blinds those who would let it.

You cannot resist, but you may look outside of her,

around her, below her, and yes, inside her.

Know 'Her' so that you may outlast her.

She cannot hold you. She never could.

Light cannot be captured any more than a soul be

nailed down. Lest you equate a photograph

to stealing light and soul.

Run down the centuries, run, she can’t catch you.

Let sorrow be your train, if you must, but release

the cargo before your ascent.

Come, rest.

Another decision awaits.