Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

[I saw his round mouth's crimson deepen as it fell],
Like a Sun, in his last deep hour;
Watched the magnificent recession of farewell,
Clouding, half gleam, half glower,
And a last splendour burn the heavens of his cheek.
And in his eyes
The cold stars lighting, very old and bleak,
In different skies.

As soon as the alarm explodes,
the silence after seems spoiled.
Quiet slips into one ear, through the tube in my skull, and out the other side -
a precipitous flow of energy.
      Here.
      Gone.
Drowned in the avalanche of thought -
      anxiety
      anger
      awe
      analysis
all of it tumbles like a cage of numbered Bingo *****
clattering against the bars as my subconscious turns the handle.

Stop
      Please
            S t o p. I t.
                  NOW.

I just want to be
for just a moment.
I just want to hear
your breath falling
slipping into one ear, through the vortex, and out the other side
smoothing the roiling sea like a summer wind
sending whispered shudders
through my neurons
silencing the cacophony
as it flows
      and fades
            into quiet.