You left a text message:
I am starting the process.
Read, after you were gone.
You sent your son out
On his way for your timely wake
So the stretchéd hand of the law
Might not pinch his shoulder.
You lived with deep pain
A body irradiated beyond its ken
Eaten alive with cancer.
Technology swirled around this ancient ritual.
Like Seneca
You died with deliberation.
Asleep in your chair
Two photographs folded on your chest
Nesting on a poem of love
And your email instructions.
Your time
Your choosing
Alone and finally at peace:
For once, the disembodied were cradled in love.
Gar Jones: October 2016