under stars, kabillions
of twinkles, of which I can
usually make out

only a few dozen, until
I migrate to the sea where
night waves soften

my gaze enough to float me
through the curtain of night
into the greater universe

where I sail effortlessly
on waves of eternity,
which is what, I imagine,

it must be like to fly or die,
either of which, when
it’s time—

though not yet,
oh, please, not yet—
will be fine with me.