I’ve imagined a dozen ways I might die
pictured it, not out of morbid curiosity
not because I have a death wish,
but because living, some days,
seems endless, pointless,
full of hopeless despair.
I might get struck by lightning
on a rain-drenched summer night
my mind, wandering, as I step outside
to walk the dog, take the garbage out
there, in my driveway,
standing in bare feet,
I’ll hear the thunder clap
loud as a gunshot
making me jump
I’ll look up to see white fire
arc across the yard,
revealing the sideways rain
coming toward me, an accusatory finger
until it touches my exposed head
or arm or neck
then the door will open
and I’ll forget the troubles of the flesh
as I’m borne away
to a place where everything is made of light