When I feel my blood slowing
and my lungs sinking toward my spine,
I will not indulge in quiet panic
nor will I bargain for another sunrise.
No, I will recall a temperate August day
with my first love, moving bare through
the calmest lake, our clothes held high
above our heads like flags in a parade.
I will remember the games that children play.
My sister peeling coins of seeds
from a waxy shell, instilling the greatest meaning
in a soft trail of sap found
on a wild cherry’s scratchy bark.
I will picture México and la playa,
my parents hooked arm through arm
before a technicolor sky, awaiting
rooftop meteors to catch light as I
try to capture the cosmos on film.
I will think back to a thousand white mountain
powder days, catching air in waves on skis
or dodging trees on trails that lead to
silent empty bowls of snow.
When I feel my vision dim down and
my limbs turn light, I will not resist my final breath.
I’ll be awash in the glow of happier times-
the beauty of knowing I did exist.
Photo is one I took of Blanca Lake this summer.