At the end,
you will gather your life
and if you’re lucky
it will fill the room,
hold your hand and speak to you in
furred voice,
calling in the breeze to brush away the sorrows
from your brow.
Everything else of significance will fit in your palm,
tarnished and worn
the colors faded and softened with time.
They will take these treasures home
and they will bury you instead.