when death arrives
it will be like an ocean
it will sing like the last bird
of winter. when it sees me believe
that love has been given to me
that no heap of dust
will name itself
to outlive life, when the rain
drops gently on the summer
and each tree
sits in the sun
to know itself, when death knows
without words
that my tongue was a bridge
for the water, and when it sees
that my hands hold
with forgiveness
and joy, the flesh that made me
live, it will make a tender
dream for my endless sleep. when death
dissolves the patterns of my vision
to allow me to breathe
and to speak to you once again
peering at the fire in the fireplace
where we saw our passions burn
when night returned
to allow us to welcome the morning,
it will plant a fish
for a bountiful spring.

these fish return
from being buried in the earth
to absolve the desperate wilderness
and to leave it wild
and to make it home. the waters
that feed these fish
are our tears, the light that feeds
these fish are the flashes
that explode to frighten us
just before sleep. when the oceans
become distant
they will plant themselves in miniature
in the egg of witness
inside our hearts,
they will remove the dangers
of the remote refuge
of my Darién. then, I will live there
with my love
again, and become the particle
indistinguishable
from the wave. we will be together
always, to fly
like giant hummingbirds
and reflect the sun
to itself