April Fox

At the end,

you will gather your life

and if you’re lucky

it will fill the room,

hold your hand and speak to you in

furred voice,

calling in the breeze to brush away the sorrows

from your brow.

Everything else of significance will fit in your palm,

tarnished and worn

the colors faded and softened with time.

They will take these treasures home

and they will bury you instead.