Next to Last Things

How will I be, my last days on the earth?This is the question I'll be asking treesseconds from now, passing them as I run,trees long surviving me by centuries—New Orleans live oaks some claim came with Christ!Christ or not, they outlive us endlessly.

Remember Keats, how he sat down to writedressed in his best and how the words poured out,unpretentiously? Yes, the old oaks nod,Sky told us all about it, Sky was there.Well, that's how I will be, just like my dad.Until the end he dressed in coat and tieas if the day were no retirement,but even after Mother died a gracetransfiguring the short days to a calling—what was it? I could see him watch the skyfor her face when I caught him unawares.That's how I'd like to look, thrilled, expectant,the cloudlessness matching my coat and tie.