It happened again
the other day.
I awoke from a nap
and as I often sleep
with my head on my arm
my hand was numb.  
Is this it?
Am I having a stroke?
A heart attack?
I shook my hand furiously
until the feeling returned
to my panicky fingers.
My heart slowed,
I breathed, and lay still.
Mid forties, now,
my awareness of it
no longer merely conceptual.
You really can’t remind yourself
often enough:
You’ll be gone
before you know it.
You’re going back
to what you were.
To fertilize the grass,
feed insects and birds,
fly, and fall as rain,
and be breathed and drank
by those who come after.
All the money and power,
hopes and fears,
memories, identities
and cherished accomplishments
once clenched in tight fists
passing as effortlessly on
as your last breath.
Remember all this,
then choose how to live.
But we don’t.