When I Die
When I die, let night receive me whole,
Untroubled as a tide that finds its rest;
Let me go gently, with a quiet soul,
And lay forgiveness softly upon my breast—
Forgive, be forgiven, like a fading light
That neither clings nor trembles at the night.
I shall miss the sky—its tender, arching blue,
The silver hush where moonlight wanders free;
Yet do not weep, for I have loved it true,
And it has bent its endless grace to me.
I go not empty, but with open hands
That held the curve of heaven unafraid.
Being poor, they’ll burn this mortal frame,
Reduce to ash what once was warm and known;
But I will not be there to feel the flame—
The self I was will not be bound to bone.
What fire can take is only what was worn,
A garment laid aside at breaking dawn.
The mask I wore—so carefully, so long—
Forged out of need, of silence, and of strain,
I shall not wear beyond where I belong,
Nor bear its quiet discipline again.
Yet I would wear it once more, unashamed,
If gentler hearts had taught me how to be.
Will it hurt?
I cannot say what lies there beyond—
No voice returns to tell the final sea;
But I have known the ocean, deep and fond,
Its restless mercy singing over me.
And wiser now, I listen as it sighs,
Each wave a truth that comes—and never dies.
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