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.
