i dont know much
about the end
or how or where or why

and now
it is a cold
and windy night

will you let it be
as it wants to be
you can make a home for it,
you know

and i wonder
if perhaps
"the end" we sometimes speak of
is merely
a grandest of openings

and miracles light the path
like sights and tastes and smells
and memories,
though bittersweet,
they sometimes are

for that is what i am
and i choose
to love myself for it

and now
it is a cold
and windy night

as magical and strange
and altogether unavoidable
as you are

and this,
well this,
is certainly
not
the end