September 03, 2018
I don't know what will happen when I die.
I don't want to know
but I want the potter to make a whistle
from the clay of my throat
and for that whistle to fall into the hands of a naughty child.
and I want that child to blow on the whistle
with all the silent and suppressed air in his lungs
so that it might disturb the sleep of those
who are dead to my cries