a man on npr yesterday said a great big sahara dust storm
was moving in. it would bleach the sky milk white
and then color the sunsets a deep orange,
kind of like caution tape. it’s not unlike this book i read
last month, about the end of the world,
where a family watched the sky deepen
each night from the inside of their car
while a black cloud multiplied slowly into the father’s blood.
and this is all to say
i don’t think about dying too often,
but i think about how the moment right before
might be incomprehensibly beautiful.
in my ear now, will toledo croons
i’ll scatter like birds
i’ll go everywhere
i’ll scatter like birds, and
i want my girls to save me.
and this is all to say
i don’t think about dying too much, but
i think about where the dust of me might settle,
how it could shatter the sky into a million pieces.