She Went On Talking Barely Audibly

“There is no pretty way to die,” she said.

“But let’s not make a dirge of it.
The galvanizing urge that governs
comfortable sentience is remarkably
resourceful: weaves right to and through
the tiniest of breathing threads.”

She went on talking barely audibly like this,

as if her thoughts had left their messy beds

right in the midsts of nervous dreams,

whispering inchoate schemes –

so soft his ear had had to strain to hear.

He said the only thing he could imagine.

would be clear: “Goodbye, my dear.”







.