Regarding the Gun

In a moment, all will be well.
I breathe mist, and peace, and meditate the last.

I have sailed a final season’s salty wind of spring;
I have assimilated, summer spy smiling as if soft, or free, or fine;
I have survived the shadows of September’s strongest sun.

October nine: my end is now
and in a moment all will be well.

In a moment I will be of stars. I will be the sky.

I will abandon binding skin and heartbeat caged in bone.
I will merge with evening breezes over oceans of time.
I will travel paths unimagined to places eyes have never seen.

All will be well.