To put out the black and white world
With my fire hose was my goal,
So on my deathbed the beams
Of smiling in my Light that I saw
During an out-of-body experience,
The screen door skeleton,
Wouldn’t have a charred corpse this time,
But would instead swim back to shore
Like children who were fish that were
Too small to keep, so had been freed.
Maybe the priesthood could be the other self
That would save the sunlight from the horrors
Of an evolving consciousness.
The black and white photos curling
Yellow on the corners with the heat of time
As the children ascend the grassy hill
To find human bodies charged with life
And not already in caskets.
Native Americans get to have
Bodies that are part of the soil
Before they die, even while sitting
At a kitchen table, watching my body write
From the window above the sink.
