There is the beauty of all things loved as they receed and then
the absolute beauty of actual oblivion-
vague murmur, brisk light, thin breeze combing wheat still green.
All there was dissolved gently in the warm mist that rose up from the river.
Nobody whistles softly behind me, no one calls my name.
Narrow silence, visceral void.
There is no history, mine or anyone´s. My eyes are fixed
on Death´s gaze.
An invisible crane ruffles the air slightly.
I am so well here, away from memory. My mind is light. All is new.
I do not love, I do not wish, I merely wait.