What invigorates life invigorates death.     Walt Whitman said.
 
 
 

overture.

“Gratitudes”, a first meditation, a light-opera (yet to be scored),
something whispered to closest friends.   when you discovered
holding a pen in your hand, when you learned to read and write.
 
 
 
 

aria, nothing much can be a hole big as the moon.

it was only a little pain.   OK, no, bigger than that.   and what if
it wouldn’t go away?   she worried this to herself.   she laid down
in the bed they gave to her.   indolent, as was described to her.

you’ll live.   for now, they said.   she wasn’t upset.   but she wasn’t
herself the same as she was before.   like you grow hair on your
head.   she took their medicine.   like making war inside herself.

she wondered if it was the state she’d driven to, these many miles
past turning back.   this was for keeps.   was it the change in all
the weather, Winter bigger than before?   was it her attitude?
 
 
 
 

aria, I meant it to be this way.

it was a conclusion she didn’t believe herself.   surely it wasn’t
something she wanted for herself.   broken things seldom get
invited in the front door.   and consider, the rest of her life.

but considered, it was as much wildfire on a windy day, running
out of control.   smoke billows.  lovely to see, if not inhale.
define middle.   halfway done.   a new meaning for that word.

enormity is on either side of that mark.   her beating heart, got
down from the fence.   legs dangling over a precipice, kind of
melodically.   she considered counting days.   then thought, no.
 
 
 
 

recitative, all of it, it’s all so brief.

secular prayers were given her.   twice daily.   hours passed.

scribbled notes on paper.   by hook or by crook.   navigate.

deter.   alleviate.   confuse.   that much at least, realized.
 
 
 
 

a chorus, assembled over time.

she wanted to say all the right loving things.   she pondered
the universe before she was around.   wondered, what might
be different after she was out of sight.   would any notice?

did it matter to her?   did it matter at any scale, bigger than
and smaller than.

the priest had said to her, go look at the face of a man,
a man who is dead.   answer, can you see the difference?

yes, she said.   we were all listening.

the person who was there, is not there now.   meaning,
they were not the body after all.
 
 

this parting bequest.

the priest said to her, tell me, how do you lift your hand?

she said, I don’t know.   I just do.
 
 
yes he said, as you do being born and.   there is
       a bigger life you cannot remove.

what to do, she asked.
 
 
       make more stars.   do that.

       they won’t care like you wanna think.   but they will
      shine brightly.
 
 
       bright eyes to see.   another horizon being crossed.
 
 
 
       someone said, Light is the face of god.