Iris silence

A dead flower
will never turn itself
toward the sun,
like a ship backing slowly
out of port. Time, in fact,
will have let go.
You are one soft ocean
full of mountains,full of
bright cellsin depths
we’ll never see.
Wait and think of nothing.
Think of never thinking
of nothing again. Never waiting
again. Think of losing
the air that is touching the tips
of your fingers. Don’t your fingers
suddenly feel a little breath?
Do they seem to maybe be tentacles?
Are you inhaling? Exhale.
Think of exhaling.
Are you sure you’re ready
for the dead gone years to stack?
Soon you’ll have been dead
for longer than you lived.
You don’t think it will be soon?
You’re forgetting how long
it has taken to get here—
your two legs braced, clothed,
this cliff beneath you raised
from nothing. Years ago
you would have been swimming
in this spot. Years from now
you could be something else entirely.