At the end of this life
or beginning of the after

I imagine I’ll see Earth’s cracked blue
hanging in space like a gemstone.

Moon shimmering, crevice and gleam.
I’ll long to return to the grime

of my kitchen, run a lone finger
slow cross the counter.

Take an hour to wash dishes.
Elbows slicked by suds.

Because mostly, I lust for this life
but forget it. The work and trash

pile up. Bullets keep shattering
skulls. I trick myself with perspective

and scale. Deadlines mean nothing
on deathbeds. No one will fault me

for the way mess seemed to root
in my wake. I am alive, so alive

and isn’t that everything? Miniscule
heart knocking black galaxy’s window.

Pinprick aching through ribcage.
Remembering something so small

can make meaning from nothing.
Can love a whole damn world.