through my arteries,
a catheter of earth
and clay slowly
replacing blood,
cooling bones,
hardening.
But I don't mind,
for I won't need
to be buried.
I will become
an old rock
instead of
a rotting corpse,
here forever.
And years
from now
a girl I love,
an old woman
herself,
will lean
against my sun
baked body
to watch ducks
on the pond.
Muscle memory
will cause her
to sit
upon
the familiar lap
of Mama.
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