How would you read
the book of life?
Would you start
where the sun shines?
Where love perfected you?
Where the world
showed you its treasures?
Or would you start
in the heartache of death,
the pain of birth?
Would you read
the last chapter first?
The middle,
where the plot thickens,
or at the beginning,
where you heard your voice
for the first time?
I would start on the fly jacket,
the last paragraph
of the last chapter,
where everything falls apart.
Where I ask
for the door to be open,
the window raised up,
the dearest face in my life
in front of my own,
and a resolve,
not to be afraid
or heartbroken,
and everyone be spared
this fate.