when death arrives
it will feel like
a gentle forest breeze
that carries whispers of ghosts in its palms

it will feel like
the earth shaking, ever so slightly
just enough to rattle you awake

death knocks on your door
like a freezing child in the wintertime
and asks for a sliver of stale bread

it will look like the reflection in the water
that disappears when you touch it
rippling into the surface

but it's a warm embrace of soil
the shower of ash into the sea
it's a mother's gentle kiss goodbye
and yet the harsh crack of wine bottles against your head

soon, death will offer you blood and nectar in two hands
but it's not a choice that you can make.