As I sit here, waiting to die

As I sit here, waiting to die
I look at the ground
My little patch of the universe, temporarily occupied

I will till letters here with my fingers
I will carve a memory through this clay
I will tell them everything
   All I was
   All that I made
   A garden of my accomplishments and dreams
   All my realizations unshared in a lonely walk through the world

I know I am not a chief
I know my face will not be saved in stone
Glaring for centuries out the apartment window of a New York heiress

I have seen them trample the earth when you go
I have been in the impatient hordes
Grabbing for the prizes, shouting and angry

Scattering to nowhere a lifetime of wisdom
Whole people cast away for a minor convenience
Such temporary shelter in such a long, cold season

And as the shore of eternity washes up and laps my toes
The muscles in my back relax
And I lay my head down in the sandy earth
And the waves wash up and over

Why did I fight it for so many years?
Why did I pay such small attention to the feel of my body at night?

One should get comfortable first in bed

Your legs, your shoulders
The feel of breathing in and out of your nose

The soft hum inside us

I fought too long writing letters in this short blasted soil
And now instead mix my bones with the rocks and the flowers and the stars

And floating now on the endless sea
My skin it keeps me warm enough
And I smile and let go
I smile and let go