I've forgotten how to live
like a man on death row
accustomed to four walls
and the monotony of routine
waiting for the inevitable

yet still I hold out for the miracle
some dna evidence that this is all a mistake
that there is something waiting for me
and that this death will give way
to pastures full of sheep
waiting for the shepherd to return

I don't even matter anymore
So why can't I walk out that door
Why can't I just give up without failing to do what I set out to do
*I don't matter to myself
So I don't matter no more

Lying apart now, each in a separate bed,
He with a book, keeping the light on late,
She like a girl dreaming of childhood,
All men elsewhere - it is as if they wait
Some new event: the book he holds unread,
Her eyes fixed on the shadows overhead.

Tossed up like flotsam from a former passion,
How cool they lie. They hardly ever touch,
Or if they do, it is like a confession
Of having little feeling - or too much.
Chastity faces them, a destination
For which their whole lives were a preparation.

Strangely apart, yet strangely close together,
Silence between them like a thread to hold
And not wind in. And time itself's a feather
Touching them gently. Do they know they're old,
These two who are my father and my mother
Whose fire from which I came, has now grown cold?

There your body hung
And all you left was a note
And all it said was *I'm Fine.