from Only Provisional
Anesthesia (3/1/18)
I want to believe, if not in heaven,
then that even in death, something of life remains—
that, like the grass, I will still feel the sunshine,
the caress of the rain.
When I walked into the surgical theater,
I gave my name and birthdate to the doctors and assistants
and lay down on the table
where warn blankets covered me and a mask was placed over my face,
and a nurse recited Goodnight Moon until there was nothing
so total I didn’t even see myself
slip into it.