Living Will

This is my wish,
when my voice becomes too soft to hear.
If you cannot do these things,
I understand.
I am not angry.
Only have no regrets,
for yourself or me.

Did I tell you often enough
that I love you?
Did I do enough
so that you can survive
on your own?
Did I think too much of myself,
or not enough?
Or of you, or anyone?
If I have wronged you,
please forgive me.
Regret is the stone
that pierces wings
and keeps us from flight.

This is my wish.
Keep me comfortable.
Play Beethoven's seventh,
and Monteverdi's Orfeo--
and don't run after Euridice.
She thought your harp too lovely
for you to hang it up.

Keep me comfortable.
Hold my hands,
stroke my face with callused gentle thumbs.
Tell me goofy jokes
and laugh for me.
Wrap me in blankets
and love.

This is my wish.
Let me go,
but if you can't,
I am a bodhisattva
and will pause on the threshold,
one golden-slippered foot hovering,
listening.
As soon as your cry reaches my heart,
I will turn and fling myself back.
I will not leave until you let me go.

Let me be so selfish
to leave you not with firm desires,
but to allow you all the time you need.

This is my wish:
let me take up residence
in your memory,
and always remember
I am love.