Death Is Something Entirely Else

Department of Trance Department of Dream of Levitation Department of White Fathom Department of Winding Sometimes my son orders me lie down I like when he orders me lie down          close your eyes Department of Paper Laid Gentry Department of Sound of Sheets of Paper he covers me with then sings I like best the smallest sounds he makes then Department of This Won’t Sting Am I slipping away Department of Violet Static as if he were a distant station Department of Satellite My child says you sleep Department of Infinitely Flexible Web and covers my face with blankness Department of Tap-Tapping the Vein Department of Eyelash I can’t speak or even blink or the page laid over my face will fall Department of Clear Tape in Whorls and Double Helixes on the Wall He says Mama don’t look Department of You Won’t Feel a Thing I cannot behold Department of Pinprick He will not behold Department of Veils and Chimes of Lungs Afloat in Ether I like this best Department of Spider Vein when I am most like dead and being with him then, Department of Notes Struck from Thin Glasses Successively at Random I must explain to my child that sleep is not the same as dead Department of Borderlessness so that he may not be afraid of Department of Fingertips Lightly on Eyelids so I can lie and listen not holding not carrying not working Department of Becalmed             faint sound of him I am gone His song is the door back to the room I am composed of the notes