do it

kill softly with generosity

so that when they come

in the always that creeps ahead

with their mouths in hungry lolls

and eyes desolate in other yous

and their knees dirty from prayer

and the gardening afterwards when

they still remain empty

you will open your arms with a hug for all

a hug that can smother kindness

a hug that will leave them

resuscitating the thought that

they have died long ago

*

decide dutifully

if you will be

the writer

or the written

the painter

or the painted

the artist

or the art

the bird

or the entire sky

*

we are all dead

ghosts spent hollowing

out the past

suckling it without teeth

and without the us

in them

that left living

*

do what others

wouldn’t dream

of doing

so they can wake

to hopes of sleeping beside

you

already done