Wishful Dying

My shadow
has grown so long
I fear the sun
is hastening me on

Already, I miss
my bare feet
in the cool grass,
the balmy breeze
on my face,
redolent with
memories of a
far away place
deeply inhaled,
I breathe my last

with your face
imprinted behind my eyes
wide open
I hear a rise
of rushing leaves and
voices past
and waning heartbeats, last
on waves of music
I am swept away