I Want to Change my Vision of Death
I want to change my vision of death,
to trade the inscription and the stone
for the eagle above the mountain at dusk;
I want red skies instead of ashes and bones.
I want to change the shut coffin and closed eyes
for the circus of the earth lit by moonlight;
I want to trade the dark socket of the skull
for a vision of immeasurable night.
I want to exchange a plot of dirt
for the roar and spitting fire of star in motion,
I want my funeral to be the light on your face,
and my grave, a trapdoor to the heavens.
Do not talk to me of peace or eternal rest,
I want a whisper that hisses like the rainfall,
thoughts that are as crystalline as salt,
and a voice that thunders like roaring waterfalls.
I want to commune with the tiger
and be consumed along with his prey;
I want a soul of such iron conditions
that it won’t dread my body’s impending decay.
I want my passion to have the vigor
of unbroken horses, my love to be only love,
and the stars stuck to the sky to be below
and the gods, who inspire me, to be above.
I want eyes that encompass galaxies,
feet like meteors thrown across the sky,
and hands that reach but cannot hold;
I accept to be dead but not to die.