Most people would rather not,
but I indulge, every few weeks,
the thought of it. Sometimes
the oily smell of an evening flower appears
and hangs in the air, a slightly browner spot.
I think most people had it wrong when they said
forget about it and find a fresh patch
of grass to lie down in.
There are prayers, though,
about that kind of peace.
I have to admit, sometimes
I want nothing more than to be lying on the bottom
of an unimpressive river.
I can watch all the leaves and sticks skim over my head,
and no one will bother me
because they’re swimming
in the more impressive rivers.
The water’s not too cold. It doesn’t feel
like being dead.
It also doesn’t feel like being old
I came to the humble water to lie down.
I did what I set out to do.
Now I don’t have to tell you
anything more about it.