He died
in a whisper
alone
in its presence
The call of death
weaker
than what he’d
been told
Wading into its
shallows
each step
took him deeper
Reluctance
and acceptance
both swimming
in turn
Each voice
every motion
he passed
toward the bottom
The pressure of
choosing
now
drifting away
In denial
and waiting
the past
floating above him
But the end
of its
shouting
— had finally begun
(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)