will I put lipstick on you when you lay still and silent as the last morning
or will you pull the sheet over my face gently with a surprised sense of relief when my final breath marries the gray air
will it be in the room where we slept under the watchful eye of children and grandchildren their timeless images nailed to the walls ever present but mute while they navigated worlds with horizons we would never see
or would it be in the hallowed house of hospice where palliative words like “we will miss you” “not long now,” “you can go, it’s OK,” float above the beds like birds stalled in flight riding unseen currents, but soon to swoop down to perch on mystic memories, briefly, before flying into the karmic night