Nearing the end, my life will say,
remember, pack up your
cherished souvenirs, the ones
that landed in your soul. You might
need them where you’re going
into the great unknowing, the deepest
mystery soon yours to unfold.

And even though you’ve only been
once to South Dakota, take with you
coyote song, the full moon prairie,
a mooing river of cattle, the patter
of rain gracing the thirsty grasslands.
Take the double rainbow, the braying bulls,
the sweet wind in the junipers.

Take a memory of everyone and thing
you’ve ever loved—
the halo around the moon, the meadow
white with snow as your father pulled you
home on his boyhood sled, your ice skates
slung over his shoulder.
Take your sisters and your mother

waiting at home, the oven warm,
the lights on.
And even though you were waited for,
remember how you asked,
wanting more, Daddy, can we take
the long way home?