people talk about angels
and it makes me wonder
because it seems impossible
that the slow immoving life
after passing could be better
without the joy or sadness
or the growing that marks
the passing of time
those things are absent
but imagine time lazily
licks by as the sun drifts
through the sky
over very still water
imagine being stretched
and under that sun
as warm as you've ever been
like moments and temperature
just don't exist
and your breathing
even slows to match them
and you're tiny
and your fist balls up
and releases rhythmically
in the only gestures you know
you've been swaddled
your whole life
and rocking slightly
that movement becomes you
you've never been alone
on still water.
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