Steps-
each unknown number
from cradle to grave
push us closer to door.
Death, not life, awaits
us.
But I don’t want to live
cushy
when I’m 90.
I don’t want to
play it safe
in my prime.
I want to prepare for
red checked
blankets in the park, and
I want the wind to remind me
I still have air in my lungs, and
the rain
to remind me I can still
cry.
I want the leaves to bud, and
new life to stir my heart,
amplifying
the sound of the
second hand on my
biological clock. I want to
dance
along the line
between this life, and
the next,
speeding on back roads,
believing
I will live forever.