Dreams were ordinary. Morning chores and quarrels
Were ordinary. Off to school, off to work, off to eat lunch,
Ordinary, ordinary, ordinary. Leaving the office
By the ordinary way, making the usual goodbyes,
That would be the way, the best way to approach
The cessation. A woman who had lived a few lives
And written many stories without apologizing
Came to mind, the words of one of her fictions
Dangling from the late afternoon, tangled like old fishing lines
In the branches near the river. We cease to be
And after that it makes absolutely no difference
Whether or not we were forgotten. We had no addictions,
No cravings, no use for anything other than our destination.
We had lost the sensitive antennae essential
For wanderers, and in the rain the doctor wept unnoticed.
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