Death, I learned, holds minor consequence.

Hindus are optimistic that way.

A period at the end of a run-on sentence,

or something as simple as changing coats

when you're tired of the weight of yours.

Even my mother,

who bawled after her father's death

8,000 miles from home,

looks now into other people's eyes

like she can tell who was who.

When Billy died,

I stood in the kitchen with my roommates

watching light tremble on glass

as they scooped out his dead body,

orange and silver under the fluorescent bulb.

Everyone else milled out

but I waited next to his tank.

His tender weight in my palm

was so ripe, that I wished for a second

life didn't have to change coats so quickly.