The Canvas at Twilight

Once it’s official, dying
Feels very like a fresh start,
Which it shouldn’t, but it does.

You’re on a new adventure.
You’re fortunate enough to know.
You’ve been granted the foresight

That narrows the aperture,
No longer open-ended,
And yet not already closed.

You know that once the hot breath
Is on you, you’ll be dismayed.
You know you may get less life

Than even now’s expected,
That you might not be able
To prepare all things fully,

But now that’s the adventure
That you’ve begun to create—
You’re no longer bewildered

By all the ways you could die,
What you should do to survive.
You’re not going to survive

Much longer, no matter what,
And all kinds of death but one
Have been shunted to the side.

The rough scenario’s set.
You’ve entered palliative care.
This adventure’s what you make

Of dying, what you can shape
Out of this amorphous clay,
The splendor the dimming takes.