He died
in a whisper
alone
in its presence

The call of death
weaker
than what he’d
been told

Wading into its
shallows
each step
took him deeper

Reluctance
and acceptance
both swimming
in turn

Each voice
every motion
he passed
toward the bottom

The pressure of
choosing
now
drifting away

In denial
and waiting
the past
floating above him

But the end
of its
shouting
— had finally begun

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)