You must have known. Closing
your eyes you could not wake
again as the same person. In the movies
we can hold the mother’s head
and cry into her face believing
she too is crying for the same thing.
I can believe you didn’t think
of me. Lying shoeless
in the intersection, pain branching
from the center of your neck.
It must have been a naming
of things: sunlight, a car.
Your brain already swelling.
When I think about my own death
I want to believe I will choose
the last thing I feel. You would tell me
this is impossible. You who knew
the world you were entering.
It was May. The sirens still far
behind the hills. Somewhere in your head
a little neuron sent out the parcel
that was me. Sent the memory
pummeling against deeper memories.
In a movie I would have been kneeling
over you. Watching a light
pulse behind your eyes.
Your face already disappearing.