As the Crow Flies

As the crow flies I died. No child under nipple. No child under bib. I died. Without ever having loved or been in love. I died as the crow flies. Straight and placid. I died. unmanned, in holster, uninhabited. I died coralled up in moments, to tangeled to give an inch. I died as the white birch tree lives. I died in the desert. A sponge for the sun. I died in a boat capsized in the ocean. To small for the August Grunion run. I died as the pen dries, leaving letters undone. I died up in fetters. Rusted tension. I died never forgiving my father, or mother, or anyone. I died never apologizing to my sister, the one they didnt want. I died wrapped up in blankets frozen to the ground. I died not crying for help, no telegram, no telephone. I died never sending a single postcard home. I died never knowing my name or names of my friends. Oh, i died, and i died as if never have lived.