If Given The Choice

If given the choice,
I would choose to die on a humid
summer afternoon,
one becalmed in a sea of lethargy.
On a day so heavy with
humidity that even the mosquitoes
lacked ambition’s bite.
Joined by drowsy neighbors, I will
fall asleep without having
to bother to close my eyes and
keep them shut.
The crickets’ drone would be
the perfect shroud,
a wall of white noise that a soul
could wrap itself in.
If there were to be a ceremony
to mark my passing,
let it be in evening as clouds
clash, with jagged
lightning emptying a grieving sky.
In the following calm,
there will be the gift of knowing
I absorbed myself
in the season that I liked best;
a seed taking root.

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