Death walks softly
cloaked in invisibility.
You rose from bed,
settled in your chair,
and Death tapped you on the shoulder;
bid you follow.
But you said, “Wait,
I have something to do.”
You closed your eyes, and arrived in my room.
I felt you there, befuddled and lost, and so I told you
To move toward the light,
I told you I loved you.
I told you to say hello to Grandma and Grandpa.
And you tracked the light, through my bedroom door
up through my roof, and I looked at the clock: 8:37
The moment you left for heaven.