I ask a hand in my hand when I go,
Palm in palm, a loved one to ease times slow
Going through. Churning life’s values about
Knowing the hour has come and full of doubt,
The ebbing force gives back its fretful pawn
As preceptive shadows fill a last dawn
With a visit that’s known, but not the date
When living and the dying separate,
From whence there is not any chance to flee
The unknown coming close to assess me.
Whether resign or rage I do not know,
Just a hand please, in my hand, when I go.

April 1995