It was like so many other times
I’d seen you sleeping—
on the couch after dinner;
with a baby on your chest;
on a lawnchair in the back yard.
Of course, you weren’t so thin then.
Your body wasn’t gnawed away by cancer.
Still, it wasn’t so different
with your head slightly cocked
and your hands resting on your chest.
The real difference
will be in the waking.
You won’t yawn and reach for the remote;
you won’t stretch and scratch;
you won’t roll out of your chair
to grab a cold one.
This time,
you will wake
where no eye has seen;
you will wake suddenly from troubled dreams
only to find yourself safe
in the secret dark,
arms enfolding you.
