What bothers me is I know everyone I know and love will die but I don’t know that I will. When I was born, I got my name from a man in Indonesia who got it directly from God. If you say it over and over it doesn’t help. Each woman I’ve had and man and meal, each ride in a fast car, each mistaken act of sex — the tattoos and the candy, the carnival and the hayride, the wasted kiss and the cigarette and the flame — each river I’ve found myself next to, the nervous breakdown I had in a moving van across six states, the cliff I found myself at the edge of with the thought. All of this and I am no closer to accepting death’s salty unavoidable must. I know God is inside things — inside the heron, inside the lagoon the heron wades into, inside the reeds it rustles amongst for sleep, inside the crane one town over, the wrecking ball the crane swings into the oldest, most wounded building — inside that building as it breaks. I know that whether we die into the red light of a new life or into the plain dirt of sleep, sooner or later we come back. We come back as the lover we should have met when we were living but missed by a lifetime. We come back as ourselves as birds as bushes. We come back as jewelry and eyes. We come back as revenge a warring heart persuades its person to take. We come back to write poetry. I know there will always be war the way I know I will never sail into a lovemaking whole enough to make me whole. I know that when you die, I want to be there. When the planes come and the explosions, and our gardens collect yellow dust on their leaves, and the eaves of our storefronts crumble, I want to be there. When the sirens no longer wail messages of false love out to the solitary hero but beg everyone to run for the oceans and will our evolution backward — gills, fins, whatever it takes — I want to be there. When the fires spread and rise and the buildings fall and the fathers and mothers scramble to decide which of their children they will save and does it matter since we are heading, all of us, into the Great Fire anyway? I want to be there when the human heart freezes and the earth’s heart mushrooms up and out and then, like the ungraspable train of hope’s dark gown, I want, in a rush of water and light and blue feeling, to be, suddenly, gone.