Pondering the End

Pondering the End

When the end comes
like the final snow of winter;
when the end comes, and dials the number of my cell phone

to call me and quickly hang up;
when the end comes
like smoldering ash;

when the end comes
like a bullet between the eyebrows,
I want to enter the gateway devoid of fear, curiously:
what am I going to find there, in the house of shadows?

For that reason, I see the whole picture
as a fraternity and a sorority,
and I envision time little more than a concept,
and I believe infinity as another likelihood,

and I think of each person as a tree, ordinary
as mountain aspen, and as particular,

and each face a familiar visage in the mind,
seeking, as all faces must, a final destiny.

When the end comes, I want to say: always
I was an explorer seeking new wonders.
I was an adventurer, embracing the world with my arms.

When the end comes, I don’t want to doubt
that my chosen life was worthwhile, and true.
I don’t want to wake up trembling and afraid,
or filled with torment.

I don’t want to end up as a passing ship, forgotten.