I never thought death would be a woman.
A cowboy , maybe, on a painted pony
his chaps wide to quell the dust of the
Or a well heeled character in a cutaway tux
tapping rhythmically next to me.

I may ride or dance to heaven, 
a rodeo or a ball!

I know, I go alone.

Still fantasy does not fail me.
My last image, Li Young Lee,
his arms bustling with roses
as he escorts me through the pearly gates.