Thoughts on Death

When I die, I will
See a door,
The hinges connected to… strange…
The knob is a deep rustic brass and I grab,
The ticks beneath the slow turn tell me that it’s been some time since anyone has opened it;
I don’t fiddle, although time feels both to be speeding around and oozing slowly through me,
Time, a thickening fog of confusion and dissonance;
The bolt slides into the handle, a metallic click,
Leaves an echo reverberating behind me,
I push the door open, an easy soft swing,
Opening to-

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