Avatar of Buddha size of my thumb
your fingernail of a beak refusing life, show me

how to die like that
that business-as-usual kind of way

as if you’ve done it
a hundred times

your lungs beating like a tiny heart
against so long and large a night

My palm is your nest,
rocking in the pool of my shadow,

I would fold you up in my heart
to save you from this and though
I loom over you, god-like against
your flitting breath you know better

you are almost there
so clear and simple
the line to cross no precipice,
no dark night no edge over which you will plunge.

In a minute your heart will still, your crossing,
a natural labor, a sweet delivery.