I Shall Take My Death to the River

I Shall Take My Death to the River

I shall take my death to the river,

though I be mad-minded, blind,

or lame from this long aging,

too truthed in blue

to moor the flow or rhythmic myth

so all-continued through my soul.

I shall take my death at the river,

and there let the body wither,

celebrant birds thronged round,

whole in their bliss-born vigil,

a convoy in heraldic psalm,

no demon’s reaper at my wings.

I shall take my death through the river,

lofted on this hauling-force

till weight and wonder bid me drown,

the corpse a sea-belonging coffin,

banished to the soundless source,

once-loved illusions disenthroned. 

I shall take my death as the river,

loosed skyward to the highs,

a youngbecoming water,

translifted over time,

the blue of the self marooned,

trothed to only twilight, mist and spirit.

© J. William Miller 2005