Charons Sheets- Night Owls Lament Ii

I wait for the boat to come from the far shore of the sky across the tree tops right up to the side of my window where I sit, looking out my eyes as glazed and shining as pieces of silver. If the boatman asks for coins, I have them ready. Two quarters copper peaking out along the edge between their silver skins. It isn’t much. Less than a load of laundry. I guess Charon’s sheets never need to be washed. How peaceful it must be to row away watching one’s room fade into the distance the sound of the trees softly snoring in the breeze unaware no one will be there to climb them tomorrow. How peaceful it must be to drift away over the world the highway slipping far away the sound of haste softening into memory. How peaceful it must be to come to the edge of the clouds and stick one’s foot out and leave no prints behind.