22 September 2012
Your death must be loved this much.
You have to know the grief—now.
Standing by the water’s edge, looking down at the wave touching you. You have to lie,
stiff, arms folded, on a heap of earth and see how far the darkness will take you.
I mean it, this, now—
before the ghost the cold leaves in your breath, rises; before the toes are put together
inside the shoes. There it is—the goddamn orange-going-into-rose descending circle of beauty and time.
You have nothing to be sad about.
By Jason Shinder
At Sunset • Opuss № I