SometimesDeath barges in
Like a flash flood, breaking down the door
And smashing windows. I know the image,
The savage, silent, implacable figure,
The black hood and scythe. But I don’t believe it.
Usually Death walks through the door
Quietly, like a shy two-year old, slips in
Slowly, a little at a time, drop by drop,
Until the floor is wet and slippery
And you fall on your face. And there it is.
Death gathers us up in its arms
As gently as a mother lion lifting her cup
And licking it to sleep. Death settles
Us into eternity with a kiss and a blessing.