under a bright quilt and

shadowed cup of sunflowers golden

red, I thought it was a place

worthy to wait for death.

A plate of fruit and thick slice

of cake so patient and

loving, just for me, beside the

sugar dish and cream. It seemed only fair

to eat slow and sit, and

I remembered the man – sick,

given a few weeks to live

as his throat closed itself.

He decided to leave unannounced.

Lines on the floor

and a trail of blood drops down to Broadway –

He never came back. I imagine

a mountain, a forest, and maybe a

great stone slab on which to lie,

hearing the buzzing shapes of insects

as I sat still,

calmly becoming an offering myself.