Rigor Mortis

I must have died, but when -- I don't recall. Some year, some day, some crucial moment came and went unnoticed, upstaged, perhaps, by a grocery list or too-tight shoes. A quiet time later, though, when the world was out to lunch, I thought of you -- and nothing happened. No sprangling pain felt keenest in the palms, no paucity of breath, no gallop in the veins. Instead -- surprise, a leaning toward regret, then numbness all. Still, I might a Lazarus prove to word of yours -- but lacking that, what wants of dying now is just the public part.