Whole
I want to be assured
death is a strawberry,
broad shouldered and caped
in the inspiration of a star.
To die fully rendered
under the same patch
of planets who witnessed
the bud and blossoming.
To dwell with seasons
in a raised bed of soil
while finches swoop
down to covet a peck of seed.
To be a tiny red fist
announcing the consequence
of life is to leave it, whole.
Copyright © 2002 Stacey Goldblatt