"Death"
One does not enter into it,
As if it were a door or portal
From which to exit.
It has no end, as if the end
Could contain an ending,
Just as the beginning
Contains endless beginnings.
It is simply the way things fall,
The way a light, come to know itself,
Comes to unknowing.
It is the way bones form and grow
And sloughing the coat
Of love and hope and despair
And longing, retain their
Silence,
Even unto dust.