The body starts falling away
begins the long process of leaving me behind,
a wife happier alone.
Everything my eyes see will die.
Everything my hands take hold of will be torn from them.
Tomorrow the world will say, “Get out.”
Still I am carried into the valley between Carol’s breasts
where a salty stream of sweat is washing.
I wade in that water to the dripping cave between her thighs.
A sincere opening leads inward to the fire that eats my body as food.
I am happy here, all bones now
one flake of ash smeared on my throat as ornament.