death is a ray of sunshine
traveling and burning through our atmosphere
searing the skin
numbing the senses
it doesn’t matter where we meet
or where we sleep or where we eat
or who’s to blame
what are these hands that clutch for grief
that work for a brief period of existence
maybe death is a way of travel
a ray burning through other atmospheres
breaking out of the skin
elevating the senses
and it didn’t matter how i met death
or where i slept or where i ate
no one’s to blame
because these hands are outstretched in space
another place