What does death look like to you?
To me it is two protruding feet
(No shoes on them, just bare feet)
out of a white ambassador window
on a chill september morning.

The legs of my father's father
shrunk in demeanour and their toe fingers
tout & white as storks, evenly spaced
on the surface of a village summer pond.

His body inflated as if in water
like a toad floating in space
his clay skin a bit brighter
and a wry smile (and a fly) on his face.