by drowning in the Pacific,
not because it’s pleasant,
(like dying in my sleep
during some subconscious,
midnight reverie),
this under-the-surface
suffocation,
but for the reason that
if I ever did come back,
as the Buddhists and
Hindus say I will,
I’d want to live in the sea,
its relative calm and serenity,
its teal and aquamarine,
with humans seldom to be seen,
my hands but fins
and a caudal for feet,
and death, should it come calling
once again, taking merely as long
as the cavernous gulp
from the orca’s great hunger.
Andreas Gripp
Andreas Gripp