When they said take of his body I read it differently I took all I could carry ran with it limbs and blood and floppy sheets of disintegrating skin dropping behind me, rolling on the path and getting covered with dirt. He doesn't need it, anyway. Give it to me. I need substance.
Listen to my reedy voice whispering straight into your ear it's not sound you hear only my breath vibrating the little hairs contained within your head I'm praying something Pagan for a different age, day, hour, year, one with all action, I'm praying to you for something wild.
When you're not looking I bury my face in my cat's soft fur I'm trying to climb into her leave my shoes and clothes behind become a good mouse crunching cat sleeping on an unmade bed dreaming of fenceposts, rabbits with soft, still-living muscle giving way under my teeth.
No one has asked me for the details of my days but I'm giving them to you anyway - today is raining and I spent most of it leaning against my window watching raindrops join other raindrops and flood our disintegrating yard. The camellias are lovely this year and I get dizzy, think I'll kill myself tomorrow if I don't think of anything better.