His last gesture was to extend his arms out,
a Christ hopeless to the wreck and fall of his body.
He wished to show his last sign of hope,
the deepening thrust of the waters took him undertow.
Some of us wait patiently for death.
The sea will thicken your destined light
and your eyes will shadow the dark hallway of listless sympathies.
A mind carrying on its own deluge
like a lost child, or a favorite son of the shepherd.
The shipyard did not expect a breathless kiss
of the last wing.
He sinks deep, deeper than the wood
where his garden grew.
Small cottage and a simple life,
now forgotten and fearful.
He doesn’t want to remember,
in this light the memories are too sharp.
He cannot whisper; his lucid death
is only a dream.
Only a dream, his lucid death,
and we carry on in the quiet of our lives.
Dustin Pickering is founder of Transcendent Zero Press, a literary publisher responsible for the award-nominated quarterly Harbinger Asylum. He is published in several publications, online and in print. He was staff reviewer at Yellow Chair Review for a year, and hosts two separate readings in Houston, Texas. In his spare time he is a visual artist, a semi-musician, a thinker, and a reader of what he considers the world’s best literature and philosophy. He is an admirer of Leonard Cohen whose recent death brings him sorrow and hope simultaneously because when great men die, others are born in their wake.