When
death comes
like
the hungry bear in autumn
when
death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to
buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when
death comes
like
the measle-pox;
when
death comes
like
an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I
want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what
is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And
therefore I look upon everything
as
a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and
I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and
I consider eternity as another possibility,
and
I think of each life as a flower, as common
as
a field daisy, and as singular,
and
each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending
as all music does, toward silence,
and
each body a lion of courage, and something
precious
to the earth.
When
it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I
was a bride married to amazement.
I
was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When
it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if
I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I
don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened
or
full of argument.
I
don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
