Fair Condition

At the moment, the body
Feels like it’s at a perfect
Temperature, freshly bathed,

Neither too chilly nor hot,
Dressed in clean clothes, with a book
In the lap and a cliff view

Through large, sun-haloed windows—
Maybe a little hungry,
Slightly achy, no real pain,

Just waiting for the laundry
To finish its spin cycle,
Just watching the cat stalk flies—

So this is dying? Can’t be.
Don’t think about what’s waiting.

Skyglow

Dying hurts people.
Dying will hurt you.
Death doesn’t hurt, and

Death won’t hurt you—
To be more precise,
Being dead won’t hurt,

Or—more precisely
Still—nonbeing won’t,
Doesn’t, can’t hurt you,

Given it’s purely
You not being there,
No you to feel pain.

And all this, really,
This business of death
And your nonbeing

And what it portends
For you, the dying,
Is a distraction.

The vital issue,
The serious hurt
Belongs to those who

Are not dying now,
Who will have to live
With your nonbeing

In a world that lacks
You. Someone else’s
Nonbeing can hurt,

Can bring agony
So great it carries
Terminology,

Vocabulary
All its own, its own
Bleak nomenclature,

Beginning with grief.
To be sure, it’s true,
Some few are not mourned,

But most deaths leave holes
In remaining souls,
Where all the pain goes.

So, if you’re dying,
Listen while you can—
Your business isn’t

Your death or dying.
Your business is now
Anything you can

Do for the living
Who’ll be suffering
From your nonbeing,

Which will trouble them
And pile pain in them

Once you’re not there, once
Nothing troubles you.