Death is not coming for me.
Death has lived with me all my life.
Death sits with me when I write
and rides on the passenger’s side
for long discussions when I drive.
Death tells me he has been many places.
Everywhere, I would think, I replied.
Yes, everywhere.
Sometimes when I’m tired death,
waits on my resting.
When I am rested,
death is eager
to see what I will do next.
If it wasn’t for death,
I might choose to do nothing.