Here I am
one more
dead man
just walking.

Here I am
quietly
reflecting
on what I see.

Here I am
wishing
not to waste
the space
where poetry
plants it blooms,
that perfect
pink fleshy room
that will soon
be consumed
by rot and decay.

Here I am
ready to play,
for this short stay
which can be bad
or made great
by the way
I take it.

Here I am
hold my hand
as I walk us both
through the
forest trees,
and starlight
reflected in these
rippling seas,
as we share
all this beauty.

Here I am
ready to give
the time I have
left to live.

Where are you?